


Sine Qua Non

by KivrinEngle



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Human Disaster John Laurens, John has a baby, Kivrin writes tropes, Laurens family dynamics, M/M, Only One Bed, that's canon you guys, the slowest of burns, will update tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivrinEngle/pseuds/KivrinEngle
Summary: Sometimes, the most unexpected twists and turns in life provide the most welcome gifts.Sometimes, those gifts are free uncooked pizza. Sometimes, they're a chance to try to figure out some of the family secrets your best friend is hiding by doing him a favor and pretending to be his boyfriend to help him survive a family event. What, Alexander wonders, could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 677
Kudos: 303





	1. One

Sometimes, the unexpected twists and turns in life provide the most welcome gifts.

Alexander Hamilton is aware of this. He does not take it lightly, nor does he think too hard about where these gifts come from. 

Like today, for instance, when an unexpected power outage at the little pizza place next door to the house has resulted in him carrying home an armful of almost-cooked pizzas that the owners had pushed into his arms for free, trying to get rid of them before they are no longer edible. 

“Hey, yo!” Alexander calls as soon as he wrestles the door open, giving himself a mental high five for not dropping the pizzas, his laptop bag, his overloaded backpack full of too many library books, or his keys. “Free pizza, who’s home?”

Lafayette bursts into the hallway outside his room, suspiciously rumpled and unusually disheveled. Alexander pretends he doesn’t notice, and turns his back to let Hercules sneak out of the room as well, allowing them the courtesy of pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on. 

“Free pizza?” Lafayette says suspiciously, eyeing the stack of boxes as though they might contain explosives. “What is wrong with them?”

“Nothing!” Alexander protests, lowering his computer bag and books lovingly onto the couch, and then dropping his rain-soaked jacket and shoes into a convenient puddle on the floor. He’ll care about them later. “Well, nothing a bit of cooking won’t fix. And they’re free!”

He hates to be a stereotype, but there’s a reason people associate graduate students and free food. Even on a full stipend and tuition waiver, there’s more ramen and cheap pasta in his life than he’d like. He goes to every departmental function with a luncheon, every grad student union meeting that provides snacks, and isn’t above attending social events for undergrads if he thinks free food might be available. He doesn’t ever go hungry, and he’s not about to start.

Herc magically appears from a direction that does not indicate he was just in Lafayette’s room, and joins Alexander’s delighted perusal of the pizzas. Laf may turn his nose up about them, but Alexander knows Herc would never. It’s the difference between coming from money and coming from nothing. “Is that sausage and pepperoni?” Herc rumbles. His stomach rumbles, too, and Alexander nods gleefully. There are at least half a week’s worth of meals here. Hercules wastes no time, snatching the boxes from Alexander’s arms and heading directly for the oven.

“Is Laurens in? There’s plenty to share,” Alexander offers, generous with the bounty of his good fortune. Lafayette shrugs.

“Who knows? Although, I do think I heard some banging and cursing from the upstairs bathroom earlier, so maybe he is doing battle with the plumbing again.”

“I’ll go see,” Alexander offers, and takes off, ignoring Laf’s plaintive call behind him.

“We have phones, Alexander! You could just text him!”

He could, of course, but there’s always something fun about interrupting John when he’s in the middle of a home repair project. He’s another from Laf’s make, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he’s inherently awful at managing the repairs around the place. The house is on the old and rickety side, though it had once probably been very nice. Now, there’s always something falling apart or leaking or making awful noises, and as the formal landlord, it’s John’s responsibility to try to fix it. 

Alex takes the stairs two at a time and hammers on the door to John’s apartment. Whoever subdivided the house had done so in really weird ways, resulting in a small apartment upstairs over a huge one taking up the rest of the house, but it works for them. Alex, Lafayette, and Hercules share the big space in return for a ridiculously low rent, and John keeps to the cramped upstairs rooms and pretends he’s not undercharging them by a criminal amount. It works because they’re all friends. Alex would never accept it from anyone else, or from anyone less wealthy than a Laurens.

“Laurens!” He puts his face up against the door and hollers through the crack by the doorframe. “Free garbage pizza! Come and eat with us!”

John yanks the door open, and yep, Lafayette had been right. He’s clearly been losing a pitched battle with something, because his hair is out of control and he’s holding a hammer like he’s about to murder Alexander with it. “Think I’m going to kill my father,” he says conversationally. “Did you say pizza?”

“Yes, but you missed the important part. Free!” Alexander says, ignoring the first bit. John is always thinking about killing his father, especially when the house is trying to kill John. John gives a heavy sigh, tosses the hammer somewhere into the depths of his rooms, and follows Alexander back downstairs while he regales him with the heroic epic saga of the free pizza. 

The downstairs apartment is already starting to smell like fresh pizza when they wander in, Alexander making sure to clear his throat loudly enough on the way in that Herc and Laf have time to pretend they haven’t been making out in the kitchen. He’s going to be so relieved when they finally decide to let on that they’re together, so everyone else doesn’t have to keep pretending they don’t all know. 

“Laurens!” Lafayette cheers as he comes in. “Did you defeat the plumbing?”

“It’s not the plumbing this time,” John says despondently, collapsing onto their couch. “I think there’s a nest of squirrels or something in the wall. I don’t know how to get rid of squirrels!”

Everyone winces at that. When the repairs are too big or too difficult, and after John has expended every one of his limited resources, they usually have to try to scrape together the money to have a professional come in. It’s one thing they’re all scrupulously fair about - everyone pays their share of repair bills, mostly so they don’t have to watch John stare at the bills with that hopeless look he usually reserves for the rapidly-dying furnace. 

“We could have Herc sing at them,” Alexander suggests, unpacking his books and arranging them on his desk. His dissertation proposal is due in four short months. There’s no time to waste.

Hercules tosses a cork coaster across the room with unfailing aim, and it smacks Alexander painlessly in the back of the head. “We could have Alexander mutter at them about politics and policy for fourteen hours, and they’d be sure to leave,” he retorts. 

“Shouldn’t they be outside enjoying the warm weather?” Laf asks, wrinkling his nose at the idea of sharing the house with rodents. 

“What warm weather?” Alexander and John mutter in unison, sharing a disgusted glance. Laf never minds the bitter cold winters and the soggy springs of their adopted home city, but John and Alexander both hail from much warmer climates. Even though it’s already May, there’s been nothing like warm weather yet, as far as either of them are concerned. 

“Maybe they’ll just move out on their own when it does get warm,” John suggests hopelessly. “Otherwise, I’ll be hanging a ‘Welcome, Furry Roommates’ banner for a few months until we can get it worked out.”

“You could just get another job,” Alexander suggests, grinning evilly over his shoulder. “You’ve still got, like, whole hours free some weeks!”

John looks like he’d throw the hammer at Alexander if he still had it with him. “Funny, Hamilton,” he says, and he clearly doesn’t think it is. 

Alexander rolls his eyes at Laf, who reciprocates. It’s one of their longstanding discussions - how the hell is Laurens so bad with money? He’s on a decent scholarship at his law school, they know, and his dad had just handed him the house, home repair issues notwithstanding. His bills can’t possibly be that high, and between the two jobs he works around his class schedule, he shouldn’t have major financial issues. And yet, every month, he winds up just as close to broke as the rest of them. 

Laf manages his money just fine, but he’s been doing it since he was crazy young. Alexander just figures nobody ever taught Laurens anything about budgeting, and the real world is a harsh taskmistress. He’ll figure it out in the end, like the rest of them, and in the meantime, they’d better all start saving their spare change for squirrel removal services. 

“Well, here’s to the end of the school year, and the arrival of our new housemates,” Alexander says grandly. “Let’s celebrate!”

“Some of us have actual jobs,” Herc says lazily. “There’s no end of anything. No summers off in the working world, Hamilton.”

“Hey, it’s not like I don’t have a million things to do!” Alexander objects. Lafayette makes an exhausted noise and goes to check on the pizzas. “Do you have any idea how much work goes into a dissertation proposal, Mulligan?”

“Yeah, because you never shut your mouth about it,” Herc shoots back. “Literature review, methodology, timeline - I could write a damn proposal in less time than you’ve spent talking about it.”

“That’s just not true,” Alexander mutters. He’s not really hurt, though. He’s run his mouth about it for weeks, planning out the work he’s got to get done over the summer, and usually Herc is the only one who even pretends to listen to him talk about it.

“Stop squabbling and come and get pizza,” Lafayette calls. “I am not playing waiter here!”

They wind up collapsed across their motley collection of mismatched furniture, nobody bothering with the table and chairs that mostly just collect books and papers. It had taken them more than two years to break Laurens of the habit of sitting properly at the table, but Alexander is pleased to see his manners are degenerating to match the rest of them quite nicely. 

“Finally done with the semester, then?” John asks, going cross-eyed as he tries to lower a too-floppy piece of pizza into his mouth, and Alexander gives a groan of relief. 

“Yes, thank all the gods. If I had to grade one more paper that started off, “Webster’s Dictionary defines politics as…” I would have lost my mind. Someone should tell the undergrads that beginning a paper that way is an automatic trip to the shredder without a grade at all.”

“Oh, come on,” Laf says, grinning at him. “In two weeks you’ll be complaining about how much you miss leading discussions and mentoring the youth.”

“What I do two weeks from now does not reflect in the least on me as I am now,” Alexander says haughtily, and then groans again as his pizza toppings slide slowly onto the floor. “Hey, Laurens, looks like there’s gonna be another stain in the carpet.”

“I’m going to make you into a stain on the carpet,” John says, with absolutely no heat, and Alexander grins at him. It’s never not fun to heckle John about the house. 

John’s phone rings, and everyone flinches a little in shock. Who keeps their ringer on? But John’s face goes blank as he looks at the display, and he stands up and walks out without a word, already answering the phone as he goes. “Hello? Yeah.”

“I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t text first,” Herc says, glaring at his own phone as if to warn it off repeating such an unwise move.

Alexander tries not to feel uneasy, but nobody ever calls John. That’s another joke they have, sometimes, because John is ridiculous about not giving out his number. Alexander had been friends with him for more than a year before John reluctantly handed over the number, as if it were a state secret. 

They eat way too much more pizza, Alexander finally letting himself really relax into the knowledge that the semester is over. The summer stretches before him, full of absurd amounts of work, but his preliminary exams are past (and passed), and he’s finally going to have the time to shape the proposal for his own original research. No teaching load this summer, no language requirements - the time will be his own, and he’ll get to shape the course of his own academic future. 

By the time John comes back in, Herc and Laf are having a very loud debate about what movie they should watch that evening, and Alexander is trying not to roll his eyes. Whatever they put on, Laf and Herc will pay no attention to it, all their focus reserved for one another. He really hates the start of new relationships, even as he hopes desperately that this one works out well. Nobody needs relationship drama among roommates, especially when they’ve lived together in harmony for so long.

“Laurens, what is wrong?” Laf asks, as soon as he spots John, and Alexander sets his last piece of pizza down. 

John looks like someone just walked over his grave. His face is grave and pale, almost grey. He staggers to the couch and sits down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. 

“My sister just called,” he says quietly. That hasn’t happened in at least the last two years, Alexander knows, ever since the mysterious family drama that John refuses to acknowledge had gone down. As far as Alexander can tell, there’s been no communication at all between John and his family since then. “I have to go home for a few days.”

The other three exchange a look. That definitely hasn’t happened in two years, and John certainly doesn’t look happy about it now. “What happened?” Herc asks.

John lets out a long, slow breath. “Someone I knew back there just passed away,” he says. His southern accent is so much more apparent all of a sudden - a dead giveaway that he’s under stress. “Funeral’s in a couple of days.”

“Not any of your family?” Laf asks delicately, and John shakes his head. 

“No. A family friend.” He doesn’t look certain, though, and Alexander knows there must be more to the story.

“Were you particularly close?” Herc pushes, when John’s been quiet long enough to suppose he’s not going to provide more information on his own. 

He gives a laugh that’s actually kind of awful to hear, and shakes his head. “No.”

Well, shit. Now Alexander’s curiosity is kicking in, which is literally never a good thing. 

“So why do you look like it’s your funeral you’re going to?” Alexander asks. He gives up on staying out of it, and consigns himself to the fate of deadly curiosity. 

“It’s a really long story,” John says, and pulls out his phone, starting to type and scroll with a single minded intensity. 

“Hey, John,” Alexander asks after a while. He’s a little concerned that John may have forgotten the rest of them are there, and the little start John gives looks like proof of that theory. “Whatcha doing there?”

“Looking for a date to a funeral,” John says gloomily. “Craigslist is where you go for that stuff, right?’

“Whoaa, hey, no!” Herc says, striding forward and snatching the phone out of John’s hands. He blinks in surprise, and Alex notices that his face has gone an even more gross shade of grey. “That’s the land of bad ideas, pal. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I need a date to the funeral,” John repeats, as though he’s making sense. “I’ve read about people offering those sorts of services online.”

“And sometimes they also include killing you and eating your liver as an extra, free of charge!” Alexander says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not this stupid, Laurens.”

John shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the stupidest thing I’d ever done,” he says, still sounding like a human embodiment of Eeyore.

“Why must you have a date for a funeral?” Laf asks. “I did not think that was customary.”

“It isn’t,” John says with a sigh. “It’s just - my family may possibly believe that I have a, uh. Long-term partner.” He rubs his face with both hands. “And I can’t really show up without one, especially not to this funeral.”

“Why not?” Laf asks gently. 

“Because my dad really wanted me to marry her - the woman who died,” John says. Now Alexander has a visual reference for how someone would look if they were being eaten alive by ants, from how uncomfortable John looks. “I made up the story about being with someone else to get out of it.”

“I am fairly sure I read this story in a book once,” Laf says. “It didn’t end well.”

“No, well, that’s why I just need to find someone on Craigslist,” John says hurriedly. “They pretend to be my partner, I pay them whatever I can scrape up, my father allows me to continue existing, and everyone goes home happy.”

“OK, so he’s insane now,” Herc says, turning to the others. “I vote we board his door shut until he returns to his senses.”

“You need a date to the funeral?” Alexander asks, trying to be reasonable. “You can’t get away with just bringing in a stranger, Laurens. They’re gonna know that you’re not really with that person.” 

“I can act,” John says, offended. Alexander kindly does not point out that this isn’t really true. “And if I just find some guy and tell him enough to let him get by, there’s no reason anyone should be paying enough attention to pick up on any minor lapses.”

Alexander could make a twenty-point list of all the ways this is a bad idea, but the thought of John randomly contacting a strange guy online, telling him personal details, and being in close contact with him- it makes his skin crawl. John sometimes has a far-too optimistic view of human nature, in Alexander’s opinion. He doesn’t want it getting him killed. 

Plus, this is John they’re talking about - John, who after living with all of them for years still doesn’t like to sit next to anyone unless he has to, who doesn’t do casual hugs or slaps on the back or any kind of physical contact unless absolutely necessary. The idea of him having to pretend to be intimate with a stranger-

“It’s not going to work,” Alexander says. “You would need someone you know, someone you’re comfortable with.”

“Because there are so many options,” John scoffs. 

“It’s only a couple of days, right?” Alexander asks. Somewhere inside, his shriveled shred of common sense tries to raise the alarm, but he stomps on it mercilessly. “I’ve got some free time, for once. I could do it.” 

After all, he thinks, what could possibly go wrong?


	2. Two

“No,” John says flatly. There’s not even a hint of possibility in his tone or in his face. Alexander isn’t too very worried. He almost always has arguments that are good enough to convert others to his point of view. “Thanks, but no.” John gets up and snatches his phone back from Herc, with the appearance of a man dead set on going back to his very bad idea, and Herc calmly removes it again. “Excuse me?” John objects.

“If you get yourself killed, I won’t have anywhere to live,” Herc says calmly. “You aren’t going to do something this stupid, John. I won’t allow it.”

“I can’t go down there without someone,” John objects. “I can’t.”

“What have you told your family about your supposed partner?” Laf asks calmly, grabbing a notebook and pen as if to take notes, looking for all the world like a therapist.

John is rapidly going bright red, which is never not funny, and not looking at any of them as he stumbles over his words. “Not - not much. They didn’t really ask?”

“You told them nothing?”

“I told them it was a guy,” John says sharply. “Then we didn’t talk about it anymore for two years, OK? That’s it.”

“Name, age, nationality - none of it has been laid out to anyone?” Laf says skeptically. Alexander thinks a few choice things about Laf daring to be judgmental of anyone else for keeping secrets, but he also takes his point. How could John’s family not know anything about his serious long-term partner?

Who doesn’t exist, Alexander reminds himself. That’s important to keep in mind.

“Nope. So, that means I can just find any guy and get this over with,” John insists.

“Or you can just take me along and not have to worry about finding anyone else,” Alexander says easily. “Skips a whole step there.”

“I’m not taking you to South Carolina to pretend to be my boyfriend!” John objects.

“You’re right. That’s the stupidest word,” Alexander agrees. “Partner? Significant other? Long-term paramour?” He grins obnoxiously. John is not amused.

“I’d rather take my chances with Craigslist,” John mutters.

He’s probably joking, Alexander muses, but on the off chance he isn’t, there’s only one way to proceed. He lets his face fall. “Oh,” he says quietly. “OK.”

John immediately starts to backpedal. “I didn’t mean anything personal,” he says quickly. “I thought you were just teasing me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Alexander says sadly. “I understand if you don’t want your family to think you’re with someone like me.” He shoots a lightning-quick glare at Herc and Laf who are snickering, damn them, while John looks at the ceiling in confused indecision.

“It isn’t you!” John insists. “I just - my family - there’s a lot of personal baggage, and I didn’t think you’d want to get involved with all of that.”

“You’re my friend, John,” Alexander says. “I don’t mind any of that, if it helps you out.” He almost feels guilty - almost - about how blatantly manipulative he’s being, but not guilty enough to go letting John get himself killed or vanished or propositioned by some weirdo off the internet. John stares at him for a long moment, then motions toward the door with his head.

“Can we talk a moment?”

“Sure.” Alexander follows him, and John closes the door carefully behind them before turning to face him, blowing out a heavy breath.

“Look, Alexander,” he starts, looking genuinely nervous. That’s not great. “I don’t think this is a good idea. There’s a lot of potential for drama in the next few days, and I know how mentally taxed you already are. I don’t need to add to your stress levels.”

Alexander narrows his eyes. “Is that really the problem? Or do you just not want me involved in your personal business?” John doesn’t answer, which is probably answer enough. Despite having been friends for more than five years now, Alexander is quite in the dark about John’s family life. On the other hand, the ignorance is mutual. They have plenty of other things to talk about, and family history doesn’t often come into it. “I’m not trying to pry, I swear. But-” Alexander glances at the closed door, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “You know what Herc and Laf are like right now. If I don’t get out of here for a few days while they get the initial honeymoon period out of their systems, I’m going to wind up punching them both in the mouth, and nothing good will come of that. You’d be saving our friendship, John.” He drops his voice, makes it low and pleading. “Please. Let me come with you.”

John still looks indecisive - and much more so than he should, really. It’s not like Alexander is proposing that they - well, propose, or anything. It’s a few days of pretending to be a bit closer than they really are. “I’d need your word on a couple points,” John says after a minute. Alexander nods, waiting to hear the terms. “First of all, anything that comes up on this trip, we never speak of again. Not between you and me, and you definitely don’t go talking about my family business with Herc and Laf or anybody else.”

Alexander nods. “Of course.” He gets the desire to keep personal things personal.

“Second,” John continues, “and I don’t mean anything by this, I just have to say it - please don’t go taking the lead on making up stories about our relationship or anything. It’s going to be hard enough to keep everything straight if it’s coming from me, let alone if we both go running our mouths.” Alexander nods at this one, too. That’s quite sensible.

“Third,” John says, his face going grim and worried. “Don’t - shit, Alexander, we can’t do this!”

“What?” Alexander presses, keeping his voice gentle. “What’s the third condition?’

“You won’t be able to keep it,” John says, his voice desolate. “Don’t change your opinion of me - but there’s no way that won’t happen.”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Alexander says slowly, making eye contact and holding John’s gaze, trying to show him how serious he is. “But you’re my friend. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I think I know you pretty well. Unless you’re going to take me to a cemetery full of people you murdered, I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”

“This is such a bad idea,” John mutters, slumping against the wall behind him and leaning his head against it tiredly. Alexander wants to tease him, to try to jolly him out of his mood, but he reminds himself that John has just lost someone close enough to warrant a trip down to South Carolina for the funeral, and is also struggling with whatever all this is about Alexander’s opinion and whatnot.

“Have I ever told you about my mother?” he asks quietly. John shakes his head. “And I’m not going to,” he says, and John blinks at him. “I know how to keep my mouth shut, John. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

And he means every word of it. For all of John’s worrying, Alexander does know him, and in his estimation, John Laurens is one of the world’s original Good People. He’s kind, and decent, and never afraid to stand up for others; he’s singlehandedly keeping his friends off the streets by allowing them to live with him at a fraction of fair market rent prices, and Alexander has seen him go out of his way to help strangers, without ever asking for anything in return. He’s one of the most genuinely decent people Alexander has ever known.

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” John says again, and shakes his head in despair. “Okay. Alexander, I’m trusting you on this. Please, please, don’t make me regret it.”

Alexander can’t even be offended, because the genuine worry in John’s voice is a real thing. Whether it’s justified or not, his friend is really nervous about this scheme. It’s going to be up to Alexander to make things work out right, and to keep John from being sorry he’s gone along with the idea.

It’s still better by far than John’s idea, though, so Alexander awards himself points and goes back in to start packing for a few days of deception and chicanery.

~~~~~

They start off far too early the next morning for Alexander’s liking. He’s armed himself with several travel mugs of coffee, but it’s never enough, and he is already dreading the long drive from New York to South Carolina. Road trips are not his favorite thing; too much sitting still, too little to do, to keep his mind from racing. He’s packed enough books to hopefully keep him busy for however long they’ll be there, but it seems rude to dive right into reading and note-taking in the first five minutes of their pretend relationship. He doesn’t have a ton of experience being a good romantic partner - at least, not for longer than some short-lived flings - but it seems like the wrong approach.

John is already on edge despite the early start. He clutches the steering wheel too tightly, and sits up too straight. Alexander wants to remind him that the police don’t give tickets for bad posture, but he’s not sure that joking around is what will help John most right now, so he doesn’t.

They chat a bit about unimportant things - the weather, the length of the trip - and then spend a good deal of much more interesting time talking about Herc and Laf and the relationship they’re so desperately trying to keep hidden.

“As if everyone hadn’t been betting on it for the past year,” John says, grinning. “They were the only ones who didn’t see it coming.”

“Must be sad to be so oblivious,” Alexander says sympathetically.

“Do you think they’ll stick it out, long term?” John asks. Alexander shrugs.

“Who can tell? They’ve got a better shot than some, that’s for sure. Having been friends for so long can only help.”

“Did I tell you I nearly caught them together the other day?” John says, grinning even brighter. “Opened the back door to take the trash out and they were on the porch. Laf took a flying leap into the bushes as soon as he heard the door open, and Herc tried to convince me he’d just been looking at the clouds.”

“If we weren’t good people, we could have so much fun with this,” Alexander says wistfully. That makes John go silent for a long while, lost in his own thoughts, until he finally sighs and starts talking again.

“I have to tell you something,” he says, his voice low and quiet.

Alexander spreads his hands welcomingly. “We have nothing but time, and you have my undivided attention.”

“That really doesn’t help,” John groans, and takes another minute and a few more deep breaths to work himself up to speaking again. “So, I’m really not a good person.”

Alex snorts at that. “I’ve watched you move worms off the sidewalk so they won’t bake in the sun. You’re a good person.”

“No, I’m not,” John says sadly. “This is why I didn’t want to bring you. I don’t want to have to tell you this.”

“Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to,” Alexander says, but John shakes his head.

“No, they’ll never buy that we’re together if you don’t have a clue what kind of situation you’re walking into.” He pauses a minute, face falling, and Alexander looks ahead of him, out the window, because he really can’t take that face for long. “How are they going to buy this - this relationship, anyway? It’s never going to work.”

John isn’t usually so quick to jump to overt pessimism; that’s usually Alexander’s role in their friend group, and as such, he knows a little about hauling someone away from that brink. “It absolutely is,” he says certainly. “Look, we’ve been friends for half a decade. We’ve lived in the same house for two years. I’ve seen you drunk and sleep-deprived and overly caffeinated, and we’ve shared every major holiday and birthday. This is going to work.”

“OK, then, what’s my middle name?” John asks, posing an obvious challenge. Alexander rolls his eyes.

“Trick question, you don’t have one. Next?”

“My favorite color?”

“Blue,” Alexander says, “though you don’t like to play favorites in case one of them might feel neglected."

“Do you know my siblings’ names?”

“Uhhh-” Alexander has to think about this one for a minute. “Harry, right? And Patsy and Polly?”

“That’s what we call them,” John says with an approving nod. “I’ve never quite understood my family’s propensity for not using our actual names. Everybody goes by nicknames.”

“Oh, what’s yours?” Alexander is genuinely curious.

“Jack,” John says flatly. “What am I allergic to?” he continues, but he’s starting to sound more curious, less challenging.

“Shellfish, you poor bastard, and penicillin.” Alexander shoots him a superior look. “You hate cilantro, are terrified of car problems, and cry every time you even hear the soundtrack to Tarzan, let alone see the movie. I know you, John Laurens. I can do this.”

“OK,” John says slowly. Alexander mentally awards himself some more points for managing to surprise him. “Wow. I didn’t know you paid that much attention.”

“You’d do just as well if I quizzed you,” Alexander points out, and John looks away quickly.

“Anyway,” John says after a minute. “Guess we’d better establish our cover story.” Alexander notices how he’s still not talking about whatever it is he’s trying to avoid, the mysterious truth that will apparently convince him John is a secret criminal mastermind or the like. “How long we’ve been together, and - and all of that.” He looks like he’s being roasted over hot coals even talking about it. This, and not Alexander’s lack of knowledge, is going to be their big problem.

“Well, you said you’d told them you were in a relationship two years ago,” Alexander muses. “Maybe we met the summer between college and starting law school or grad school?”

“Has to be earlier,” John objects, sounding pained. “At least that spring, before graduation.” Alexander wonders for a moment if this has anything to do with why John’s family hadn’t shown up for graduation at all. At the time, he’d been selfishly grateful that he wasn’t the only one without family to share the day with. Now, he has questions. But if he asks them, he’s pretty sure John is going to fling himself out the window of the moving vehicle, if his discomfort is anything to go by.

“OK, met at college, then,” Alexander agrees. “Started dating that semester. Remember that capstone thesis course we both took? Say we got together after working on projects for that class.”

“That could work,” John says, settling down a little. “The closer to the truth we keep everything, the easier it’ll be.”

Alexander racks his brains, trying to remember details of that course, or even of the whole semester. It’s a bit of a blur. He’d been working on finishing all his classwork, polishing his grad school applications, and trying to manage all the extracurriculars he’d been involved in. In reality, he’d had no time for a steady relationship. John, Laf, and Herc were about the only people he’d seen regularly during that time, and even so, he remembered John being gone kind of a lot that semester.

“Awkward question time,” he warns John, who tenses up again. “Hey, at least I’m giving you warning!” He gives John a second to process. “So you told your family you were with a guy - naturally, one as handsome and dashing as myself-” he gives a little mock bow, and John snorts. “Did they take that well?”

John shrugs, his shoulders tight. “Nobody was thrilled, but they weren’t surprised, either. My prior relationship had been with a guy.” (Alexander files this away under “Things I Had Not Known Before About John Laurens.”) “By that time, my dad had a lot more to be upset with me about than my being gay.”

“Good to know,” Alexander says quietly. “Glad we’re not going to be facing boiling oil or anything.”

“Oh, no,” John says, his mouth quirking into a twisted half-smile. “They’ll be awfully sweet to you, and they’ll be praying for our souls the whole time.”

That seems a good place to let the conversation rest for a bit, and they drive for a few hours without much talking, playing music and singing along, or riding in quiet contemplation. It’s not an awkward sort of silence, Alexander thinks. It never is, with John. He’s one of a few people Alexander can let himself be quiet with. They stop for rest breaks and gas every once in a while, and the air is warmer every time they get out. It feels a lot more like spring now, Alexander thinks with gratitude. He should move south, after grad school.

John starts talking again out of the blue, as though Alexander has been twisting his arm. “OK, so there are a few more things we need to talk through,” he says briskly.

“I’ll say,” Alexander agrees. “What do I call you?”

“My name is John,” John says slowly, as though concerned Alexander might not know this. He rolls his eyes.

“I know your damn name,” he snorts. “I mean - nicknames, pet names, that sort of thing.”

John looks vaguely disgusted. “Do we have to?”

“People usually do, after being together for years,” Alexander says loftily, hoping he’s right. He hasn’t exactly done the long-term relationship thing himself. “Honey, sweetie, pookie-bear?” He grins evilly, and John looks like he wants to smack him.

“I’ll leave you by the side of the road to die,” John says flatly. He doesn’t mean it. “Maybe we just don’t do that?”

“Or maybe I’ll come up with something and surprise you,” Alexander says, still grinning. “There has to be some fun in this for me.”

“Side of the road,” John repeats. “To die.”

“Oh, you love me too much for that!” Alexander says, and puts his hand on John’s arm teasingly. That almost gets them killed, as John jerks his arm away so fast that he steers halfway into the next lane, which is fortunately empty. “OK,” Alexander says slowly, after he’s had a chance to get his breath back. “Hey, John? I think I’ve spotted a flaw in the plan.”

“Shut up,” John groans. “I know, OK? I’ll work on it.” His shoulders are almost around his ears, he’s so tense. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Alexander says. He’s doing his best not to think about why John is the way he is, because that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is figuring out how to help. “But they’re not likely to believe we’re actually together if you go flinging yourself across the room if I get within a foot of you.”

“I know.”

“What can I do to help?” Alexander’s not going to dictate terms, for once. On this, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. “To make it easier for you? Set whatever boundaries you like and I swear I’ll respect them.”

“I know,” John says again, but it’s less tense this time. He sighs. “Just - don’t surprise me, OK? Let me see you coming.”

“I will,” Alexander promises. “Look, would it be better if you initiate contact, when necessary? I’ll just follow your lead?” John nods, looking relieved. There are a lot of questions Alexander is working very hard on not asking right now. He awards himself a few more points for that, though it’s not as funny this time.

Things go quiet again for a while, and it’s not as comfortable a silence as before.

By the time they cross state lines into South Carolina, John is looking as antsy as Alexander has ever seen him. It’s hard work to hold his tongue, but he knows, somehow, that he needs to wait on John’s timing. Eventually it pays off.

“I have to tell you what we’re walking into,” John finally says, like an explosion that’s been building underground for years, but then he stops.

“Funeral,” Alexander prompts. “For a woman your father thought you should marry?”

“Yeah,” John says tiredly. “Martha, that was her name. She was sort of a friend, growing up. We went to high school together.” Alexander waits. “Our dads did business together. Anyway, when I refused to marry her, told them I was already with someone else, that’s when my dad lost his patience with me. He still let me have the house, so I’d have somewhere to live, but other than that he cut me off.” He looks into the distance, and Alexander vaguely hopes he’s paying enough attention to the road. “Told me not to darken his doorstep until I’d come to my senses.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Alexander says drily. “I’m amazed they invited you to the funeral.”

“Yeah.” John doesn’t sound amused. “I guess even if I can’t marry her now, I can at least pay my respects.”

“Any particular reason you didn’t want to marry her?”

John shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. “Umm. Gay, remember?”

“That’s fair.”

There’s quiet again for a while, while Alexander weighs the pros and cons of asking more questions. They pass a sign indicating the distance left to Charleston, and John groans and starts talking again.

“Remember you promised -” he starts. “Your opinion of me. Well.” He heaves a deep sigh. “Never mind that. OK, so there was an actual reason my dad was so eager to have us get married.” Alexander makes an encouraging sound, and John doesn’t look at him. “I got her pregnant.”

Well.

That’s not what he’d expected to hear. He tries not to, but winds up inhaling just wrong in surprise and coughing for way, way too long. Hopefully John understands it’s not sarcastic or anything, just Alexander choking to death on thin air. It takes a few minutes for him to calm down and wipe the cough-induced tears from his eyes.

“OK,” he says calmly. He’s very calm and in control of himself. So calm. “So that must have been a surprise to your family.”

John nods. He doesn’t look around. “Yeah. It didn’t go over particularly well, as you might imagine.”

“So your dad wanted to do an old-fashioned shotgun wedding?” Alexander can’t help but be slightly intrigued. “And her parents?”

“They wanted to have me shot,” John says, still flat. “Anyway. I told Martha I’d support her, whatever she chose to do, but that I wasn’t going to marry her. She didn’t want to get an abortion.”

“Wait,” Alexander says. “Holy shit, wait. Do you mean you actually have a kid?”

John looks like he’s going to be sick, and Alexander wonders if this is the best venue for this conversation. The idea of John having a child - a child none of them have ever known about - has blown a hole in the foundation of his world, and he’s feeling a bit unsteady. John nods.

“Little girl. Martha named her Frances.”

Alexander does some quick and panicky math. “So she’d be like two, right?”

“Eighteen months,” John corrects.

“Holy shit,” Alexander repeats in a whisper. He thinks for a moment, thoughts whirling way too fast. John hasn’t been home in more than two years. “Have you ever met her?”

“No.”

He’s met statues that are more communicative and emotionally open than John is right now. He has a really horrible thought.

“Nothing happened to the baby, right? When Martha died?”

John shakes his head, going a shade paler. “Oh god. No. I hadn’t even thought of that.” He breathes out slowly. “Martha was in a car accident, but Frances wasn’t with her.” He bites his lip for a moment, sneaking a quick glance at Alexander, who tries to put on the most supportive expression he can. “Look, I swear I’ve done my best,” John says, his voice gone a bit ragged. “I sent money every month - child support and more, everything I could manage. And I always would have gone to visit or helped care for her, but Martha didn’t want me in her life, and I figured I should respect that.”

He sounds so much younger than usual, and Alexander is suddenly struck by just how young he is, how young all of them are, to have that sort of responsibility on his shoulders. John isn’t quite 25 yet, and he has a daughter. Alexander’s head is swimming a little. At least now he knows why John is always broke.

“So what’s going to happen to her now?” Alexander asks. John’s face goes even bleaker, somehow.

“I’m sure Martha’s parents will want to keep her. She and Martha lived with them all along.”

“Is that OK with you?” Alexander asks quietly. John flinches like he’s been hit.

“I don’t see how I can do anything else,” he murmurs. “How could I take her away from her grandparents? She’s never even met me, and I don’t know anything about her.”

“But is that what you want?” Alexander presses. “For her to stay there, and not part of your life?”

John doesn’t answer for a long time. “When Martha was pregnant,” he says after a while. “She didn’t want an abortion, but she didn’t want a baby, either. She didn’t want to keep her.” He breathes out slowly. “I was going to.”

A little more sketchy math gives Alexander a quick conclusion. Baby Frances must have been born in November or so of their first year after college, when Alexander had been up to his eyeballs in seminars and papers. He vaguely remembers John being awfully distant at that point, but honestly, if Alexander remembered to eat most days it had been a miracle. He hadn’t noticed much of anything around him.

“Going to - to take care of her? Be a single dad?”

John nods. “That’s part of why I had the house. I had everything set up and ready. A little nursery, just off my bedroom.” He smiles sadly, and Alexander suddenly understands a little better why none of them have ever been invited to hang out in John’s part of the house. “And then when she was born, Martha changed her mind.”

“Shit,” Alexander whispers again. “You’re kidding me.”

John shakes his head. “My dad backed her up, of course. He was still furious with me, and I think he thought I’d cave, come back and marry her, if they kept Frances away from me.” He looks like he wants to cry - or maybe, more accurately, like he’s in some place past the edge of tears.

John looks over at Alexander, just for a fleeting second. “I still have all the things,” he says miserably. “Crib and baby bottles and everything. I couldn’t bear to get rid of them, even after I knew she wasn’t going to be mine.”

“But she is yours,” Alexander says fiercely. His heart is literally aching in his chest with the misery in John’s eyes. “You’re her father, you’ve got rights. You could take her back.”

“I’ve never even met her,” John says again. “How could I take her away from the people she knows? She’s already lost her mother.”

He has a point, Alexander knows, even though he wants to object and make arguments about how Frances might need a father. He’s not here to lecture John, or to try to change his mind. He’s here as support, and now he sees that John may need more of that than he’d anticipated. That’s OK. Alexander can be incredibly supportive.

He’s bewildered, though, by so many things. How had things come to pass between John and Martha? How was John able to go on with his life, to the extent that none of his friends had even known anything was wrong, when he was carrying all of this around with him? And what the hell is Alexander supposed to do to help?

There may not be much he can do, he has to admit to himself. He can’t fix John’s problems for him, or bring Frances her mother back. What he can do, though, is be the best fucking fake boyfriend the world has ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lambchops! Hope you're all well and lovely! After surviving a BAD brain day yesterday, I was so very relieved to be able to write again today. I hadn't quite realized yet how much writing and sharing stories means to me right now, until I couldn't yesterday. I mean, I should have, considering I'm now at over 200,000 words for this fandom in less than two months. What the actual hell, guys. 
> 
> Anyway, we're really in it now on this one, and hopefully we'll be back to near-daily updates. Thank you guys so, so, so much for reading, and commenting, and sharing your thoughts and feelings with me! I am so glad to have found this fandom, I cannot even tell you. If I make it out of this year with my sanity intact, I'm sending you all cookies. <3


	3. Three

Alexander has heard tales of Southern hospitality. 

John’s family does not disappoint. Mostly.

The Laurens’ home looks like something from a movie set - wide windows, a wrap-around porch, even rocking chairs creaking gently in the spring breeze. It’s early evening by the time they get there - Alexander admits that all of his cups of coffee meant more rest stops than he’d initially anticipated - and John sits, unmoving, in the driver’s seat for a long moment after they arrive.

“You ready?” Alexander asks quietly. John startles, then shakes his head.

“Not even a little.” He sits for another minute, then takes a deep breath. Alexander can see him physically exerting his will to make himself move, and follows quietly. They both grab their bags from the back of the car, and Alexander gets John’s attention, holding his gaze.

“Hey,” he says, awkwardness personified. “I’m here to help, you know. However I can. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Thanks,” John says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I kinda do, though. But I appreciate it.” He closes the car door, braces himself, and puts his hand out to Alexander. “Shall we?”

That’s not so much, Alexander tells himself, as he takes John’s hand, closing his fingers around John’s. It’s basically like a handshake, and John shakes hands with people sometimes. It’s nothing to write home about. 

It feels surprisingly natural, actually. Somehow he’d thought it would be weird, holding hands, preparing to play a starring role as John Laurens’ doting partner - but it isn’t. It’s John and Alexander, as they are, headed toward a mutual goal. They’ve done this before, although usually it involved less skulduggery and more facing the demons of home repairs, but it’s not actually that different. 

“I should put on an accent,” Alexander muses as they walk up the meandering path to the front door. “Figure out this character I’m playing. Maybe I’ll be French?”

“Oh god, stop,” John says in terror. “Just be you, OK? I need you to be yourself.”

“That’s not going to be very convincing as a partner you would choose,” Alexander points out reasonably. John gives him the most incredible eyeroll he has ever seen, and hey, wow, whatever, he’s just trying to help. “Fine, no accents. Can I have a fake limp?”

“I could kick you in the knee and give you a real one,” John offers. He’s almost smiling, though, so Alexander is doing his job properly. 

The door flies open before John can even raise a hand to knock, and a young woman stares out at them with open suspicion. Other than the suspicion, though, she’s so obviously John’s sister that Alexander has to work hard not to gape. She’s got the same eyes, the same messy curls, but a completely different constellation of freckles; Alex thinks she must be younger, too.

“Oh, Jack!” she says after a minute of staring, and flings herself at him. John barely untangles his hand from Alexander’s in time to catch her in his arms, and - huh, interesting, Alexander thinks. He’s got no hesitation about hugging this sister, and after a minute, burying his face in the top of her curls for a moment.

“Hey, Patsy,” John murmurs, his voice muffled by her hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too, Jack,” she murmurs back. They sway back and forth together for a moment before either of them will let go, and when they do, Alexander is unsurprised to see they’ve both got tears in their eyes, though they smile at one another with obvious joy. “Won’t you just make up with Dad, so you can come home and see us?”

“I don’t know that he wants to,” John says quietly. “We’ll see. I’ll do my best.” Promise made, he extracts himself from her arms and gestures to Alexander. “Patsy, this is Alexander. Alexander, my baby sister.”

“Who’s a baby?” Patsy says, offended. “I’ll be twenty-one next week, you know - and if you think you’re leaving without celebrating with me, I’ll give you the same haircut I did when I was eight!” John shudders at that apparent threat, and Patsy turns to Alexander, looking him over with sharp, incisive glances that really aren’t at all like John, despite the physical resemblance. “Alexander, is it? I’ve heard so much absolutely nothing about you.” She extends her hand for him to shake, and Alexander winces at the pressure she exerts on his fingers. He needs those fingers to type. 

“I’m afraid I have the advantage of you, then,” he says smoothly. “John’s told me so much about you!”

“No, I haven’t,” John objects. “Don’t believe anything he says, Patsy. He’s just trying to make life difficult for me.”

Patsy looks at him again, and Alexander grins winningly. “I don’t know, Jack,” his sister tells John thoughtfully. “I think I like this one.” She shakes her head at John, narrowing her eyes. “Since you wouldn’t tell us anything, I thought you were with Simpson again, and I was planning to murder him if he walked up to this door again. Very glad not to have to get my hands bloody just yet,” she tells Alexander sweetly.

She’s about five-foot two, he thinks, with the loveliest southern accent and charming manners, and Alexander’s more than a little afraid for his life. 

“No!” John protests. “Anyway, please don’t kill Alexander. He owes me rent money for the month.” 

“Come on in,” Patsy says, dropping all reference to murder and opening the door wide. “Everyone’s so excited to see you, Jack.”

“Everyone, sure,” John mutters, but Alexander is pretty sure he’s the only one close enough to hear it. John glances back at him again and takes his hand, pulling Alexander along through the door. “How are the Mannings?” John asks his sister, and Patsy frowns as she glances back.

“Horrible, of course. How could they be anything else, with Martha dead?” John winces a little at that, and Alexander tries to convey some sort of warmth and encouragement through a squeeze of his fingers. 

“You said it was a car accident,” John presses. “What happened?” 

Patsy stops and turns, looking at him sharply. “Not a word to the younger kids,” she whispers. “She was using, Jack. On and off for the past year or so, and she was high, and hit a tree at the side of the road.”

“Oh my god,” John whispers. “I had no idea.”

“Dad has done his best to make sure nobody does,” Patsy says, her voice sharp. “He’s done everything he can to cover for her, but even he couldn’t hide the toxicology reports.”

“The Mannings - they must know?”

Patsy nods. “Yeah. They’ve already put the house up for sale and are planning to move to Florida. One scandal too many for them in this town.”

John winces again at that, and Alexander thinks he knows at least one of the other scandals she’s referring to. 

“Dad must be distraught,” John mutters, and Patsy nods again.

“Totally. She was the daughter he never had.” She rolls her eyes, almost as well as John does, and shakes her head. “Come on. I can catch you up on all the details later.”

She leads them forward again, toward a room where Alexander can hear the rumble of voices, and stops at the entrance. “Look who finally got here!”

Three people look up at them, and Alexander feels John’s hand going tense in his. “Hi,” John says lamely.

A little girl - this must be Polly, Alexander thinks - launches herself across the room and crashes into John at full speed, and in a second he’s wrapped both arms around her, lifting her up, as she squeals with joy. “Jacky! You’re home!”

Alexander steps back a little, to avoid being smacked by an errant foot, and hides a smile at the fond nickname. 

“How did you get so big?” John asks wonderingly. “Last time I saw you, you were half this size!” 

“I am eleven now,” Polly says as John reluctantly puts her down, and her delivery is so like John’s that Alexander has to grin again. “I’m practically grown up, you know.”

“I can see that,” John agrees gravely. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Polly beams up at him, clearly forgiving him everything, and then yelps in annoyance as another older brother scoots her out of the way with a hand to the side of her head, pushing gently until she scampers to John’s side. This one is Harry, Alexander knows. He looks the least like John of all of the siblings, but Alexander would still be able to place him as a Laurens. He shakes hands properly with John, as if checking off a list of What Adults Do. 

“Good to see you, Jack,” he says.

“You too, Harry,” John says fondly. “You finally did get taller than me, didn’t you?”

“I always told you I would,” Harry says, finally cracking a smile. 

The third person in the room has not gotten up, Alexander can’t help but notice, and all eyes go to him when he clears his throat. 

“Jack,” he says evenly. He doesn’t smile. 

“Hi, dad,” John says, and he doesn’t take a step closer. 

“I’m glad to see that at least you knew your duty well enough to come to see our dear Martha laid to rest,” Henry Laurens says. Alexander takes an instant dislike to the man. “I do wish that I had been able to prevail upon you to do more while she was still alive.”

“Could this wait until you and I could speak in private?” John asks, politely enough, but there’s an undercurrent of tension to it that Alexander can hear as clearly as if he were shouting obscenities.

His father shrugs, and turns back to his book. “Your offenses have been public enough, but certainly.” It seems like he’s done speaking to John for now; Alexander can see the tension in the lines of John’s shoulders, but he doesn’t take the bait.

Patsy indicates with her head that they should enter the room, and John and Alexander follow the silent order, making their way to a too-formal looking couch. John sits gingerly, and Alexander follows his lead, trying to work out how the hell they would sit if they were actually a couple. He goes for close-but-not-too-close, and hopes it looks like they’re at ease together. 

“So this is Alexander,” John tells his siblings, since apparently his father doesn’t much care who it is he’s brought home. “He’s my-” and John freezes up entirely, looking at Alexander in instant panic. Alexander knew they ought to have spent more time working out nicknames and ways of addressing each other. 

“We’ve been friends for a long time now,” Alexander says calmly, and is relieved beyond measure when John catches on to the subtle twitches he’s making with his fingers and grabs his hand, like they’re a little more than that.

“You don’t mean friend, though, right?” Polly asks knowingly. “Not just friend.”

“Um, no,” John agrees, giving his little sister an incredibly awkward grimace that’s probably meant to be a smile. “Alexander and I are - well, we’re, you know. Together.”

It’s the absolute least convincing declaration of shared mutual affection Alexander has ever heard, and he hears their entire plan spinning dangerously close to the edge of unretrievable. He gives an easy laugh, and nudges John with his elbow - slowly, gently, as unsurprisingly as he can. “I just may wind up getting my feelings hurt if that’s how you introduce me to your family,” he says, grinning at John with an edge of warning. “Stage fright,” he tells the Laurens’ in a loud, fake whisper. “I think John’s worried that I’m going to do something so embarrassing he’ll be forced to leave me here when he goes home.”

Polly and Harry both laugh, but Patsy’s looking suspicious again. 

“No, I’m not,” John objects, obviously trying to recover now. “It just - it matters to me that you like them, and they like you.” It’s almost a decent save. It might work for now. 

“How long are you going to be together with Jacky?” Polly asks, innocent enough, although Alexander has his suspicions about the supposed innocence of youth. 

“Good question,” Alexander says, turning to John with mock thoughtfulness. “We haven’t really worked that out yet. Until next Tuesday, maybe? Or until one of us becomes so hideous the other can’t look at him? It’s up in the air, still.”

“Hah,” John says, sounding strangled. This is not going to work, Alexander thinks, and comforts himself with the idea that John’s Craigslist stranger would definitely have been an even worse choice. He’s got to get John to relax. He squeezes his hand again, and regrets they didn’t learn morse code or something before embarking on this venture. 

“Do you want to hear the story of how I first met your brother?” Alexander asks, making eye contact with each of the siblings in turn. Harry and Polly nod, looking interested; Patsy is still watching him like his own fate is hanging in the balance. “So it was freshman year-”

“No, it wasn’t!” John objects. “Sophomore year!”

“Oh, right,” Alexander agrees blandly. “Anyway, sophomore year, and I had been out drinking. Um, water, obviously,” he course corrects when John gives a nervous spasm at his side. “Because I had been exercising. Anyway, I ran into my roommate, Hercules Mulligan, and his best friend, who we just call Lafayette because he has far too many names for anyone to remember, and they were trying to get your brother to stop-”

“Hey, no, wait!” John interrupts again. “That’s all wrong. I was trying to get them to stop arguing about the proper form of address for the queen, if they were to meet her.”

“That could be,” Alexander allows. “And anyway, one thing led to another, and John and I both wound up shoved into a water fountain in the middle of campus.”

“You were shoved,” John objects. “You pulled me in, trying to hold onto my arm to keep yourself upright!” 

“Probably shouldn’t have said what I did about Herc’s pants,” Alexander muses. John’s siblings are looking genuinely amused, and John has lost some of that strangled sound to his voice. The story makes a lot less sense without acknowledging that they’d all been drinking rather heavily, or that he and John had had a passing acquaintanceship before that, John being Laf’s roommate. Still, it’s doing the trick. Polly has plopped herself down on the floor to listen, and Harry sits in a chair nearby. Patsy is still clearly unconvinced. 

“That’s true,” John agrees. “You should have seen what Herc did to Alexander’s pants the next day! I don’t think those stains ever came out.” He grins at the memory, and Alexander lets himself relax a little.

He’d never been big on theater, and certainly had never done anything like improv, but it feels like that’s exactly what he’s doing now, before a small but important audience. Everything either of them says is a potential stumbling block. 

Things get easier after that, though. John manages to get Harry talking about his own college plans, as he’s heading off to school in the fall, and Polly regales them with stories about the kittens she’d found in the stables out back a few weeks ago. Patsy keeps watching them with suspicion, but Alexander thinks she might be thawing a little as she watches them, especially as John loosens up a bit, letting himself relax and smile and sometimes bump his shoulder against Alexander’s in conversation. 

John winds up deep in conversation with Harry about majors and minors, and Alexander about jumps out of his skin when Patsy gives him a sudden poke in the shoulder. “Would you mind coming to help me carry in a few things? No sense letting everyone get hungry and thirsty with all this talking!” She sounds cheerful enough, and Alexander is happy to oblige; John barely seems to notice he’s leaving. 

Patsy leads the way to the kitchen, a few doors down, and Alexander gets a little more worried at the briskness of her footsteps. She clearly means business. They’re barely in the kitchen before she whirls on him, stepping forward as Alexander reflexively steps back. 

“You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me that you’re good for Jack before I lose my patience,” she says sternly, and Alexander gulps. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he tries, and Patsy rolls her eyes again.

“My brother is far too willing to let people take advantage of his good nature,” she snaps. “Why does he think you’re going to embarrass him so badly?”

“I swear I don’t mean to,” Alexander assures her. “I was trying to put him more at ease with a joke. He’s really nervous about this visit going well.”

“Hmmm.” Patsy glances meaningfully at her watch, and Alexander musters more of his wits. 

“Look, John is one of the most important people in the world to me,” he says with complete sincerity. “I would never purposefully do anything to hurt or embarrass him, and I’ll try my best not to do so by accident, either.”

“And you’re not taking advantage in any other way?” Patsy presses. Alexander shrugs. 

“Honestly? Aside from the fact that he charges all of us far too little rent, I swear I never would.” He makes proper eye contact, not blinking. “I’m doing my best to help him through this tough time, OK? I promise. He’s-” Alexander thinks of their house, full of strange leaks and smells half the time, and the way they all work to keep everything going, how they stay up late at night studying together or watching stupid movies, how many times John has just fallen asleep on their couch and Alexander has tossed a blanket over him rather than waking him up and sending him up to his own rooms. “He’s family to me, now, in every way that matters. I take that very seriously.”

“Good,” Patsy says, suddenly relaxing and favoring Alexander with a sunshine grin that’s the mirror of John’s. “I’d much rather have you on his side than not.” 

“Me too,” Alexander agrees in relief. 

“Things are going to be very hard in the next few days,” Patsy says, giving up her interrogation stance and going to pull some trays of snacks out of the fridge. “Jack will have a lot to deal with. It’s better that he doesn’t have to face it alone.”

“That’s why I wouldn’t let him leave me behind,” Alexander confesses. He takes a tray from her, admiring the neatly arranged foods. “Even if I doubt I’ll ever get the full story from him on half of it. He’s very private, even with - with me,” he finishes awkwardly. He means “with us” - with their friend group - but it’s just as true to say it this way. John would never have volunteered all the information he shared today if he’d had a choice. 

“Yes,” Patsy agrees quietly. “As long as you respect that.”

“Always.” 

“Good,” she says cheerfully, and leads the way back to the sitting room like she hasn’t just taken a year or two off Alexander’s life. 

Henry Laurens has vanished by the time they get back, and everything becomes a whole lot less tense once he’s gone. They sit up late that evening, Alexander and all the Laurens siblings, and there’s a good deal more laughter and less worry than he’d thought. There’s a good deal of catching up for all of the siblings to do after two years, but Alexander also hears loud silences here and there in their talk, topics they are definitely all avoiding. He doesn’t know enough to fill them in, even with guesswork. 

They’ve missed each other, that’s clear. Alexander wonders how John has been dealing with the loss of this family for so long without any indication of how much it’s bothered him; he lights up in the presence of his siblings, sharing old jokes and reminiscences, and even forgetting to be tense and weird about physical contact. He relaxes next to Alexander, losing the stiffness and tension most of the time, and occasionally even grabbing his arm or tapping him on the knee in the course of the story he’s telling. Alexander is careful never to go any farther, but he mimics the contact when appropriate, and is cautiously hopeful that they’re doing well enough not to raise suspicion from the other Laurens children, at least. 

He finds some evil amusement in watching how flustered and red around the ears he can make John go by complimenting him or telling the others stories about how awesome their brother is. He figures John will get him back for it eventually - maybe the squirrels will wind up being Alexander’s roommates - but hey, it fulfills the requirements of being the Best Fake Boyfriend Ever and also lets him tease his best friend, making it a win/win situation in his eyes.

It’s almost midnight by the time everyone is starting to yawn so widely they can’t ignore it anymore, and Patsy finally declares it bedtime. None of the others argue, and Alexander nods internally at his assessment of the situation. Patsy is clearly in charge right now, so she’s the one he most needs to impress. 

“Tomorrow’s got enough troubles waiting for us,” she reminds them when Polly looks like she might object, and they all nod in agreement. Alexander doesn’t even know what they’re looking at the next day, but it’s a funeral trip. Nothing about it is likely to be a good deal of fun, especially for John, with all that he’s carrying. Harry and Polly head off to their own rooms, and Patsy marches John and Alexander through the corridors, like some housemistress seeing to the proper housing of her guests. 

“Your room isn’t available anymore,” she tells John quietly. “I’m afraid dad turned it into sort of a hobby room, except he forgot to have any hobbies.”

“Washing his hands of me?” John asks drily. 

“He never stopped hoping you’d change your mind, Jack,” Patsy says quietly. “Not even when Martha was getting worse. He always thought you’d come back for them and really be a family.”

“That was never an option,” John says, and his voice is so desolate that Alexander knows he’s missing something, some part of the story that he hasn’t been allowed to see yet. “It’s not like I was the only one who made choices.”

“I know,” Patsy says quietly. They go up a staircase and down a hallway, and Alexander has to stifle his wonder at the size of the place. It’s not like he hadn’t already known the Laurens family were rich. This is just hard to take in. “Here, you two will be in the guest room,” she says, opening the door like a proper hostess. “Sleep as late as you like tomorrow. We haven’t got anything until noon.”

She leans in to hug John again, and makes her way quickly down the hall, vanishing behind another door. John gestures for Alexander to enter first, and he does, dropping his backpack by the door with relief. He probably did pack too many books, honestly, and it’s been a long day. He flicks on the light switch, looking around the room with an impressed eye - until it falls on the bed.

The one bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? I'm not posting after midnight, YOU'RE posting after midnight! Definitely not my fault. 
> 
> Anyway, HAH! Look! Layers upon layers of tropes. You're not even prepared for what might spring up next! Who knows? Certainly not the author. 
> 
> I've played with the Laurens kids' age differences a bit here, compared to actual history, but I'm not going to feel guilty about it. 
> 
> Thank you all again, always and forever. I'm so glad to get to keep sharing this ridiculousness with you all.


	4. Four

There’s one bed. 

It makes sense, of course it does. John and Alexander have supposedly been a serious, committed couple who are sharing a house for more than two years now. Of course Patsy would assume that they’d share a bed, and had probably deliberately put them together to be sure that John was not left alone to deal with everything that was happening. It all makes perfect sense.

He can’t turn around and look at John, who he can basically hear freezing up and panicking behind him. 

OK. So. Alexander is going to have to be the adult here, and make all of this work, and he’s a little resentful about that. It would be nice, for once, just to get to be the carefree friend, or the whimsical, unreliable one, But he’s committed to helping John here, and this is something he can work with. He’s just got to be completely cool and calm about everything, and hope John follows his lead.

“Left, or right?” he asks calmly, taking a few steps forward and making himself turn to glance at John over his shoulder, as if this is nothing of significance. He makes his body language scream this is fine, this is all fine, and does not give in to the nervous impulse to try to break the sudden tension with a sexual joke or line of innuendo. 

“Um,” John comments eloquently. He’s still frozen in the doorway.

“Hey, get in here before your sister comes back and skins me and turns me into a rug,” Alexander urges, beckoning frantically at him. John stumbles forward a few steps and shuts the door, though he stands by it with one hand on the knob like he could take off running given the slightest provocation. 

“I - I can’t believe she did this,” John says, his voice almost breathless with surprise. “I should go find her and tell her we need separate rooms, or I could just go sleep on the couch-”

“And then your family will either figure out we’re not really together,” Alexander says calmly, though he keeps his voice barely above a whisper, “or they’ll think we’ve had some sort of huge fight and then, again, your sister will skin me and turn me into a rug.”

“No,” John objects, and the tiniest hint of a smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “An Alexander rug wouldn’t go with the decor at all.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Alexander says, throwing his hands up melodramatically. “I’m not even good enough to be a rug, huh? Typical, Laurens, typical.” He gives John a little grin. Everything is fine, everything is normal, they can handle this. “So, left or right?”

“No, it’s fine, I can sleep on the floor,” John says quickly. “You don’t have to-”

“And can you guarantee, one hundred percent, that your adorable little sister Polly, who is a ball of precocious energy with a distinct lack of self-restraint, will not decide to come bursting in here in the morning to jump on you and wake you up?” Alexander demands. He feels bad pushing this, when John is so clearly reluctant, but they really can’t afford to have John’s whole cover story falling apart their first full day there. John does not need any of the drama that would result from that, especially if the next few days are to be as difficult as Patsy implied. 

“No,” John says, slumping back against the wall behind him. “No, she probably will.” He sighs raggedly. “Damn. This isn’t going to work at all, is it?”

“Look,” Alexander says, moving a pace closer so he can speak more quietly, but being very careful not to crowd or impose on John’s space. “If you want to end this at any time, you tell me. I’ll follow your lead all the way, I promise. But if you still want to try to pull this off, I believe we can. Tonight went great, I think, and once everyone is focused on the funeral stuff, they’ll be so much less interested in anything we do.” He jerks a thumb at the bed behind them. “This is not a big deal, OK? I shared a bed a few times in various foster placements. I know how to keep to myself, and this bed is plenty big enough for two.”

“I probably snore,” John says tightly. 

“Oh, you definitely snore,” Alexander assures him, grinning with (probably) way too much fondness evident on his face and in his voice. “Do you not remember every time we’ve ever tried to get you to watch Star Wars? I am an eyewitness survivor of those snoring attacks, John Laurens, and I tell you I can survive it.”

John rubs his forehead with a free hand sheepishly. “If you’re really sure?”

“Me? I’m fine,” Alexander says easily. “But if you aren’t comfortable, say so at any time. You know I’ll listen. You don’t have to do this if it’s too uncomfortable for you.”

“Could have used that kind of concern for my comfort before you went and drew all over my face with Sharpie at Halloween back in freshman year,” John grumbles, but he steps away from the door and walks into the room. Alexander breathes a little sigh of relief. 

“You refused to wear a costume! What else was I supposed to do?” Alexander defends himself, and begins rummaging through his bag for pajamas and a toothbrush. “Besides, I was young and stupid back then. I’d never do that now.” He makes his way to the attached bathroom and goes in, just poking his head out to finish the thought. “Now I’m old and stupid. I’d do something way worse!” He grins at John, who looks ready to strangle him, and closes the door. 

That’s a good sign. That’s far closer to normal John, who Alexander has seen far too little of so far on this trip. He’s conversed with Serious John who tells him horrible personal secrets, and he’s witnessed Laurens-Family-Impressing John, and he’s seen far, far too much of Nervous John, which sets Alexander’s teeth on edge on his behalf. It’s good to see John closer to his normal state, even if he has to pester and annoy him to get him there. He’s good at what he does. 

By the time Alexander walks out of the bathroom, ready for bed, John is waiting by the door with his own bundle of things. It’s so reminiscent of when they lived in the dorms, walking past other people on their way to the shower, that Alexander feels a sudden wave of nostalgia. He steps aside to let John by, and John stops long enough to mutter, “Right. I’d like the right, if you don’t mind.”

“Works for me,” Alexander says carelessly. Inside his head, he awards himself a very large number of points in multi-colored 72 point font. He putters around the really ridiculously large bed, plugging in his phone, letting his mind race through everything he’s learned today. Which is a lot. His mental picture of John Laurens needs some background updates, for sure, although he’s still certain he knows John. For all John had been sure his admissions would change Alexander’s view of him, they haven’t. 

He doesn’t like Patsy’s caution about potential boyfriends, though, or any single word that had proceeded from their father’s mouth, or how skittish John is about certain things. He really doesn’t like the idea of John having hidden so much about his life from his friends, and if he lets himself think too much about what John had said about a nursery for the baby who never came home, he’s going to lose it entirely. 

He climbs into the left side of the bed, scooting his pillow far over to the edge, and lying on his side, back turned to where John will eventually come to bed. And look, it’s not good to let himself think about anything too deeply, or let his brain put anything into words, because Alexander is not here to think about being in bed with anybody. He has a job to do, and he’s damn well going to do it. Right now, his job is to make sure they can both get a decent night’s sleep. He decides the best way to do that is to fake sleep from the start, so John won’t feel obliged to talk to him or anything that might be more awkward. 

John lingers long enough that Alexander really is more than halfway asleep by the time he creeps into bed, switching off the light and barely touching the blanket as he arranges himself at the far side of the mattress. They could easily have fit at least a Lafayette between them with no trouble, even if they’re both perilously close to tipping off their respective sides. Oh well, Alexander thinks philosophically. Baby steps.

~~~~~

It is not a good night’s sleep. The mattress is comfortable, the pillow stays lovely and cool, and nobody snores. That’s part of the problem, really. 

Alexander can practically feel John’s tension, even though they’re not touching and he’s facing away from him. He knows John isn’t sleeping, and wonders how well he’s managing to fool his friend with his own faux sleep. Neither of them do anything as normal as shift positions or tug at the blanket in their sleep; they’re both endlessly polite, considerate, and awake. He’s so hyperaware of John, it’s almost painful; he can hear every breath he takes, feel every little movement he makes through the corresponding shift of the mattress. The best he can manage is a light doze on and off, and by the time the sun is beginning to shine through the window, he’s desperate for a cup of coffee and for this pretense to be over. He’s nothing but grateful when their door slams open with a rush of little-girl feet, and Polly flings herself at John, shaking him merrily. 

“Jacky! Jacky, wake up!” John groans tiredly. Alexander heartily concurs. “Wake up! I want you to help me make breakfast!”

“Aren’t you big enough to pour your own cereal?” John asks tiredly, but he’s already sitting up. 

“Of course!” Polly sounds indignant. “That’s not what I mean! I want to make real breakfast - pancakes and bacon and everything - and I can’t do that all by myself yet.”

“It’s way too early,” John protests. 

“I know! But if we don’t get up and do it now, Patsy will wake up and do it all herself, and I want to help her by doing it first!” When John stands up, Alexander feels safe enough to roll over and look at the siblings. Polly is staring at John with such huge, pleading eyes that Alexander knows the battle is already won. He never can deal with that sort of pleading, and Laf takes dreadful advantage. 

“You really have gotten big, haven’t you?” John asks fondly, shaking his head and ruffling her hair. “Fine, you win. I’ll be down in five.”

“OK! If I burn something before you get there, it’s your fault!” Polly sings out merrily, dancing out the door without a backward glance. John chuckles, then glances over at Alexander, suddenly guilty. 

“I’m so sorry we woke you up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep. I’ve been recruited for kitchen detail.”

“Told you so,” Alexander says lazily. “I knew she’d come in long before anyone sane would be awake. Kids always hate the existence of sleeping adults.” 

“And I’ve been awfully absent for a long time,” John says, as though it’s his fault. “Anyway, go back to sleep. We’re gonna go burn a bunch of food, and later you can come down and eat the ashes. It’ll be great.” He stumbles off to the bathroom, clothes in hand, and Alexander flings his arms wide in relief to not have to stay huddled against the edge of the bed any longer. It feels so good, especially when his hand strays into the patch of warmth John left behind. It is possible, Alexander thinks blearily, that he may be part cat. 

He must have dozed off for a bit, because when he wakes up again, John is gone, and the house is starting to fill with the smells of cooking - not burning, as John had so direly predicted, but delicious smells, including - 

“Coffee,” Alexander groans, sitting up like some incredibly cliche Frankenstein’s monster. He’s dressed and stumbling blearily down the stairs in a few minutes, following his nose rather than his turned around sense of direction in this maze of a house. 

“Morning,” John says as he stumbles through the door. He points at a mug already poured and waiting. “I’d say be careful because it’s still really hot, but I know you wouldn’t listen.”

“You are a prince among men,” Alexander praises him absently, reaching for the mug with both hands and inhaling the scent. “An officer and a gentleman.”

Polly giggles behind her hands, but Alexander has higher matters to attend to. He applies himself diligently to his cup, waiting for his brain to switch on. John refills his mug in between flipping batches of pancakes, and after two and a half mugs, the lights start to come on in his brain. He’s pulled enough all-nighters in his time to know how to handle the day ahead, and he puts on his pleasantest face. 

“Miss Laurens,” he says properly, offering Polly a little bow. “My compliments to the chef.”

“I made the coffee,” she says, looking a little proud of herself. “But Jacky told me how, so he gets some of the credit.”

Alexander beckons her close, and leans down to whisper in her ear, “But who do you think taught him how to brew coffee, hmm?” She giggles again, eyes wide in admiration, and Alexander shoots a grin over her head at John, who is watching them suspiciously. 

“What are you telling her?” he calls, unable to step away from the griddle at the moment. “Alexander! What are you telling my sister?”

“Nothing that isn’t true!” Alexander says, all innocence. “Now, Miss Laurens, can I be of any assistance?”

Polly is a little dictator in the kitchen, he quickly finds out. He winds up cooking sausages and frying eggs, though he’s not sure any of them know what they’re doing. It’s ridiculously domestic, really, the kind of thing in sappy holiday commercials that he’s always laughed at. It would be so weird if this were real life, he thinks, rather than just an odd morbid fantasy game they’re playing with stakes that are way too high. He looks around the kitchen in mild alarm as he sees the mess they’re making, too. He can’t imagine Patsy is going to love this sight. 

She doesn’t. 

She’s very good about not scolding Polly for it, though, and being grateful for the help in cooking, but he and Alexander wind up washing dishes for so long he can feel his fingers starting to get pruney. They all enjoy a really quite decent breakfast first, though, and he feels closer to human with food and coffee in him. 

“We need to get going, boys,” Patsy calls in when they’re almost finished. Boys - like they aren’t several years older than she is! “We need to be there within the hour, and traffic can be unpredictable at this time of day.”

“Be where?” Alexander asks. John’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“The viewing,” he says quietly. “My dad is already there with the Mannings.”

“It seems like your dad was very close to Martha?” Alexander asks, trying to put the question delicately. 

“He doted on her,” John tells him, still wiping at a very dry plate. “Even before the - the baby thing, you know. He always said we were made for each other, and he couldn’t wait to have her for a daughter-in-law.”

“Hmmm,” Alexander says. Sometimes not saying anything is the very best way to get more information. 

“And once she was pregnant,” John says with a sigh, “he figured it was a done deed. He invited her to come and live here, even after I’d said I wasn’t going to marry her.”

“And Patsy said he’d been covering for her?” Alexander says, keeping his tone neutral.

“I don’t know any more about that than you do,” John says, looking helpless. “I had no idea she was using anything, or I would’ve-” John stops, and Alexander doesn’t know whether he doesn’t know what to say, or whether he’s too afraid to say it. 

“She wasn’t your responsibility,” Alexander tells him. He’d put a hand on his shoulder in a normal situation, but right now, John looks far more breakable than Alexander has ever seen him before. If he touches him now, John may crumble away under his fingers. 

“Wasn’t she?” John smiles miserably. “I can’t help but think about the position I left her in.”

Before Alexander can offer his opinion on the batshit stupidity of that idea, Patsy sticks her head back in. “Good enough, boys! Now you’ve got to go get ready - we’re leaving in five minutes.” 

It’s more like fifteen by the time everyone is properly dressed and groomed and brushed and polished to Patsy’s satisfaction, and then she insists they all ride together in the world’s most uncool minivan and proceeds to drive it across town like an actual bat out of literal hell. Alexander’s heart is in his throat by the time they arrive at the funeral parlor, but none of her siblings look bothered. He’s so relieved to be safely back on solid ground when he steps out of the van that he almost forgets to be nervous about the visitation. 

The funeral home is quiet and lovely, in the soulless, bleak, oppressive way that funeral homes always are. Their feet make no sound on the plush carpets, and everyone speaks in hushed voices that don’t carry. It’s not a particularly large crowd, and it’s very easy to spot Henry Laurens and a couple who must be the Mannings, clustered together around a little table some ways from the coffin. 

Alexander takes one glimpse at John’s face, and immediately tugs him aside by his sleeve behind a little wall, into an alcove that seems perfectly designed to give people a bit of privacy as they strive to master their feelings. It’s a bit tight for two, but propriety can be damned right now, when John’s face looks like that - distraught and empty. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, letting go at once. “You OK?’

“I didn’t think it would be open casket,” John says tightly. “I can’t. I can’t go and look at her.”

It’s such a morbid thought, and Alexander can’t begin to appreciate all the layers of screwed up all of this is, but he’s got John’s back. He nods fiercely. 

“Then don’t.”

John shakes his head. “They’ll never forgive me if I don’t. Her parents and my father. There’s no way I can come here and not go and pay my respects.”

“OK.” Alexander thinks hard. “Are you OK going near the coffin, as long as you don’t have to see? I could walk you there, keep you from crashing into anything if you wanted to keep your eyes shut.”

“Yeah, that would - that would help,” John says breathlessly. “Thank you.”

It’s awkward, but not terribly so, to link his arm through John’s and proceed across the room, as if nothing was wrong. He can feel the glares Martha’s parents are sending their way, as if blaming him for the fact that John hadn’t married their daughter and saved her from her own choices, but he doesn’t send a glance their way. His attention is on John, who closes his eyes quietly as they approach the open coffin. Alexander begins narrating very quietly, close to his ear, telling him what’s around them and when to stop. John’s arm is tight and tense in his own, and he’s nearly thrumming with nervous energy. 

The open casket thing is both impossibly morbid and shockingly natural, Alexander finds. The girl in the coffin (she doesn’t look like more than a girl, even though he knows she was a woman) looks so peaceful and at rest - but he knows what kinds of damage and injury her fancy clothes must be hiding. Nobody naturally looks that peaceful when they’re dead, either. Alexander’s seen enough of it to be sure. 

They pause a reasonable amount of time by the casket, and while John doesn’t look at Martha, his lips move in some sort of prayer or message that even Alexander cannot hear. When he’s finally done, he gives Alexander a tiny nod, eyes still shut, and Alexander steers them both away from the image of death and towards the parents, who are standing guard over a guestbook and a framed photo of what must have been Martha, in life. Alexander hisses in John’s ear to let him know he should open his eyes again, and they make their way to the grieving elders, still arm in arm. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Manning,” John says soberly. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

“Your loss too, young man,” her father snaps, “if you’d done half of what any decent fellow would have done.”

“I’m not here to argue with you,” John tells him quietly. “I’m just very sorry, and I wish I could have done more. I didn’t know-”

“You didn’t choose to know,” Martha’s mother says bitterly. “All very well for you, wasn’t it? Leaving her and that poor baby here in shame, while you went away to live your life of sin?” She glares at Alexander, who isn’t in the least intimidated. “ 

“Martha didn’t want me to be involved,” John protests. 

“No, she wanted you to come home and be a man, rather than being a boy and running away,” John’s father says sternly. “I am only sorry that her fond hopes for you were never realized. She always did think better of you than you deserved.”

These people, Alexander thinks to himself in sickened surprise. That they would turn Martha’s visitation into an airing of grievances, and in such a public forum - it strikes him as every kind of indecorous, even allowing for the effects of grief. 

Mrs. Manning snatches up the framed picture, hugging it to her skinny frame. “My only daughter, and her only daughter,” she says, already-reddened eyes now overflowing with tears. “This never should have been your fate, my dears.” She turns the picture around and thrusts it out to John, who takes it automatically. “How could you do this to them?”

Alexander draws a deep breath, ready to give them all a piece of his really quite impressive mind - but the energy goes out of him at the little gasp of surprise John gives, as he takes hold of the photo frame. 

“That’s Frances?” John asks in a tiny whisper, and Alexander leans over to peek at the picture over John’s shoulder. 

Martha in the picture looks very little different from the Martha in the casket he had just seen - but Frances? She was like John in miniature, with skin a bit lighter and curls put up in tiny little pigtails on either side of her head - but she has his smile, and the crinkles around his eyes when she grins, and a fat, open little hand reaching out beseechingly toward the viewer. 

“I’ve never,” John says, fighting back against a hitch in his voice. “She never sent me any pictures.” His fingers reach out and hover just over the glass, above the little starfish hand that baby Frances is holding out. Alexander’s heart gives a solid thump - of warmth and joy, or of warning, he’s not quite sure. Something feels like it just slipped out of place, or maybe into place, and suddenly he’s not quite as confident that they’re getting out of it unscathed, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless endless woe and weeping, my darlings, for how long I've been away! I took my kids to the beach this week (fun, hilarious, stressful, exhausting) and now I'm SO FREAKING SUNBURNED it's insane. So this has been delayed in the name of important shenanigans that would definitely make you laugh if I told them, but I am so tired right now I can't even keep my eyes open, so it will have to wait. Hijinks were had, though. Frivolity and the easy abandon of youth. I need to catch up on sleep so badly!
> 
> Anyway! Back to business! I adore you all so much - I knew EXACTLY what 90 percent of the reviews would be last time, and they did not surprise or disappoint! I hope this story continues to be worthy of your regard. Love to you all, with sunburned fingers - Kivrin.


	5. Five

“Of course dear Martha didn’t send you pictures,” Henry Laurens says bitterly, looking at his son with no hint of sympathy. “What other means did she have of trying to compel you to come to them yourself?”

“It was never that simple,” John says, but he sounds distant, and he doesn’t look up from the photograph he’s studying. 

“It was only ever as complicated as you chose to make it,” his father says, his voice a low hiss. He and the Mannings are both maintaining socially appropriate faces, of course, and Alexander is sure that no-one viewing this conversation from the outside would have a clue how wrong things are going. 

But sure as shit, they’re going wrong. He feels John like a ticking time-bomb at his side, counting down to an explosion of one sort or another, and they can’t afford that here and now. John will never forgive himself in the future if he causes a major public scene at a viewing. Alexander steps very very lightly on the toes of John’s shoe, only applying enough pressure to get his attention, and then gives his arm an invisible squeeze. He regrets not having majored in telepathic communications instead of political science. 

“Is she,” John starts, still sounding a million miles away, but he manages to look up. His eyes are suddenly red and watery, but he’s holding it together, Alexander notes with approval. “Is she doing OK? Frances, I mean?”

“How well would any toddler do if you suddenly deprived them of their only functional parent?” Mrs. Manning snaps. She extends her hand imperiously for the picture, and Alexander watches as John physically forces himself to relinquish it. “She’s fractious and confused and lonely, poor lamb.” She sounds a bit more annoyed than sympathetic, though. 

“Is she here?” John asks, looking around as though someone might be hiding a baby. Martha’s father snorts. 

“This is no place for a child. My sister is with her at home.” He eyes John coldly. “Well, you’ve said your piece. Sign your name if you plan to and move along.”

It takes John a few minutes to put anything on the paper of the guest book, and Alexander is nothing but sympathy as he watches his friend try to think in the face of three disapproving and impatient onlookers. In the end, all he manages is his name. Alexander doesn’t bother to write anything. He’d never met Martha, and has no interest in providing consolation to her parents after that little display. He keeps his arm linked with John’s as they move away, and is slightly concerned that he can feel John shaking a little as they walk.

“You’re fine,” Alexander tells him quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. They’re a bunch of assholes.”

John doesn’t entirely seem to have heard him. He’s staring at a distant wall, in the opposite direction of the coffin, and seems like he’d probably wander straight into it if Alexander didn’t keep him from it. He glances around, looking for the other siblings, and sees them making their slow way through the visitation process. Patsy is talking to the Mannings, and Harry and Polly are somber at the side of the casket. Alexander wishes they could just leave right now. 

He does what he can for the next few minutes, though it seems like far too little. He keeps John steady and out of the public eye, and then steers them over to intercept Patsy after she hugs the Mannings and moves away. She’s clearly been crying, and Alexander slows John down for long enough to let her wipe her eyes and draw a shaky breath. 

“This is the worst,” Patsy says quietly when they reach her. “What sadist thought this was a good way to bring any kind of closure or comfort?” She glances over at the casket, and then away again. “Doesn’t even look like herself.” She puts a hand over her mouth, holding back a sob, and John gently detaches himself from Alexander to pull her into a hug.

“You were friends?” he asks, as though he’s just realized the fact. Patsy shrugs. 

“Sort of. Friends, sometimes; mostly, she was almost family. Watching her fall apart the last year or so-” she breaks off again, and rests her forehead against her brother’s shoulder for a minute, composing herself again. She straightens, pulls away, and starts to move toward the exit. “Come on. It’s no good having me make a scene in here. The Mannings care far too much for public perceptions to put up with that.”

Totally makes sense, Alexander thinks sarcastically. After all, why should anyone be allowed to grieve openly? Far better for all of Martha’s friends and family to hide their feelings under socially appropriate masks of polite indifference. Funeral traditions really are the worst, sometimes. 

They wait outside the door for Harry and Polly to join them, and Patsy stares up at the sky, breathing deeply. John just looks lost. Alexander waits patiently for them to start talking for at least three minutes, and then gives it up as lost. Clearly, the Laurens family has a gift for not talking about things that matter, both between themselves and to others.

Good thing he’s not a Laurens.

“How was Martha taking care of a baby if she was using so frequently?” Alexander asks. The words are blunt, but he makes his tone as gentle and compassionate as he can manage. Patsy sniffs a little, and glances warily at John.

“Honestly? She wasn’t, a lot of the time.” She sighs, and lowers her voice even further, though there’s no-one around. “She’d drop her off with us for a few days, and then pick her up once she was through her latest binge, or she’d leave her with the grandparents, useless with children though they are.”

“And nobody thought to tell John anything about it?” Alexander presses, still trying for a decent tone, though he wants to snap and shout. Patsy raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Alexander,” she says warily. “I’m not sure how much Jack has told you about our family, but there are things we aren’t good at, as a group. Like communicating.” John gives a low sound of agreement, nodding his head. “Until three days ago, my father let us all think Jack had absolutely walked out on Martha and Frances. We were all furious, you can imagine, and didn’t mind when dad said we shouldn’t communicate with him until he’d seen reason.”

“That makes so much more sense, now,” John says, giving a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t work out exactly why I’d been so cut off.”

“Well, as soon as Martha died, dad came out with the truth - that you’d offered to take Frances, and that you’d done what you could financially, and I could have strangled him with my bare hands if that wouldn’t have meant another funeral,” Patsy says, her tone so straightforward that Alexander doesn’t honestly know that she isn’t serious. “Of course, then Harry and I felt like complete idiots, and Polly spent two days telling us ‘I told you so’ and Jack, why the hell didn’t you ever say anything?” 

John shrugs helplessly. “I didn’t know what I was doing,” he admits quietly. “Not about any of it. I still don’t. All I could think to do was help out as best I could from a distance, and then be there if Martha had ever decided she wanted me in Frances’ life.”

“But not Martha’s life.” Patsy is looking at John very shrewdly, like she’s putting together pieces of a puzzle whose outlines Alexander can’t even see. He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact, and Patsy narrows her eyes and keeps staring. 

Polly and Harry come out, hand in hand, and Polly’s face is a red, weepy mess, while Harry looks like he’s been glued together with so much adhesive that he couldn’t have mustered a facial expression if he had to. Patsy leaves off interrogating John with her eyes and hugs Polly, and John pats Harry on the back a few times, and they all move away from the door without a word. 

Nobody speaks again for a few minutes, until they’re all back in the minivan and Patsy is risking all of their lives again with driving maneuvers Alexander has never seen outside of videogames. Polly pipes up from the back seat, where she’s dragged John along for comfort, clinging to him like a rather drippy little leech. 

“What’s going to happen next?”

Patsy makes eye contact in the rearview mirror and smiles at Polly. “Nothing else today, Polly Lobster. The funeral is tomorrow. That’s the church service and then the graveyard, remember?”

Polly nods, somber and pale, and clings harder to John’s arm. “But last time we did everything in one day, not two.”

“Every funeral is different,” John says gently. “The Mannings are making the arrangements, so it’s up to them to decide how to do things.”

Alexander feels a new, deeper sort of heaviness descend upon the Laurens siblings at this comment, and wonders at it. He knows John’s mother had passed away years ago, before he’d ever met Alexander, but Polly would have been too little to remember that funeral. It must be another relative they’ve buried in years past. Most families have no shortage of those, in time.

“Is Martha in heaven?” Polly asks after a few minutes. Alexander hasn’t been around kids enough in recent years to decide whether this is appropriate eleven-year-old questioning, or whether Polly really does have some sort of trouble with social boundaries, but none of her siblings seem bothered.

“That’s not up to us to say,” Harry says stiffly. 

“But do you think so?” Polly presses.

“We can hope so,” Patsy says, kindly, but firmly enough that it’s evident the conversation is over. Polly sniffles again, and John barely manages to deflect her with a tissue before she would have made a mess of his shirt sleeve. 

“What about Cessie?” Polly asks, picking up her questioning again after a little bit of quiet. “What’s going to happen to her now?”

“Cessie?” Alexander asks, though he’s very aware it’s not his conversation and not his place to butt in. 

“Frances,” Harry tells him, darting a quick glance back at John, who’s gone very still. “Polly thought Frances was too stuffy a name for a baby.”

“I don’t know, munchkin,” Patsy says after a minute. “That’s all got to be worked out still.” If he hadn’t known John so well, Alexander would have mistaken Patsy’s calm smile for indifference. Watching her face, though, he sees the same tells that years of friendship with John have taught him to read like text. The depth of the family’s grief is a little more apparent to him in that moment. They’ve lost Martha and will be losing the Mannings, whatever they might mean to the Laurens children, and now Frances’ fate is undecided. It’s clear they all care deeply about her, from the silence in the car. It’s getting a little hard to breathe under the weight of all the things that are going unsaid. 

“Well,” Patsy says after a minute, making a thoroughly illegal left turn that turns into a u-turn, and continuing on with no regard for how Alexander is grasping the door handle and trying to restart his heart, “I think we’ve had enough of indoors for a while. What do you say we go to the Hill for a bit?”

The suggestion is met with a round of quiet agreements, and Alexander sits on his curiosity for fifteen minutes or so until they arrive. The Hill is apparently not anything particularly exciting. It’s, well, a hill. The hill sits near one edge of a grassy city park, and Patsy parks off to one side as if they’ve arrived at the most significant spot in the world. Polly takes off running up the hill as soon as the door opens, and the others follow at a more sedate pace. Patsy stops to kick off her high heels and walks up the hill barefoot. It’s a gorgeous spring afternoon, all blue skies and fresh breezes, and Alexander appreciates the break from the past few hours of tension. 

John sits down in a little hollow in the grass just below the crest of the hill, and Patsy sits beside him. Harry wanders a little further up, staring out into the distance, and Alexander sits awkwardly at John’s other side. John takes his hand after a moment, and Alexander is relieved that at least he’s paying proper attention to maintaining the pretense of a relationship. He’s having a hard time hanging on to that priority in the middle of everything else. 

“Nice hill,” he remarks after a while, listening to Polly’s gleeful chatter from high up in a tree, where it seems she’s talking to a nest of birds. 

John gives a little snort that could almost be interpreted as a laugh, if you were feeling generous. “Guess it doesn’t look like much, huh?”

“No, it’s excellent,” Alexander insists. “Good soil, proper grass, decent views. What’s not to like?”

Patsy does laugh a little, though it’s quiet and subdued. “We used to live just down there,” she says, pointing at a little house that sits with its back to the Hill. “Our mother used to bring us out here to play almost every day. We’d eat picnics here for lunch, and race up and down until we wore ourselves out.” She elbows John, and gives him a little grin. “Remember that time we rolled down the Hill and you crashed head-first into the little tree that used to be there?”

John does manage a chuckle at that. “I wasn’t sure if my head was more likely to crack from the blow or from you screaming in horror!” They smile at the memory, and Alexander is struck again by the resemblance between them. 

Patsy puts a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Jack, you have got to bring Cessie here.”

John stiffens instantly. “I can’t-” he says, suddenly sounding breathless. “It’s not my right to-”

“You’re her father,” Patsy says firmly. “You’re all she’s got, now. Don’t tell me you aren’t going to at least try?”

“I’ve never even seen her,” John protests. “And the Mannings aren’t about to let me get within a mile of her if they can help it, I’m sure. They would have been happy to feed me to a shark today!”

“The Mannings have no legal right to keep her from you,” Patsy says. “And while I shouldn’t say it, not while they’re burying their only daughter, they’ve got no business trying to raise that baby, Jack. They’re awful with her. Completely impatient. They never even liked babysitting her for Martha.”

John stares forward at nothing. “I want to meet her,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “But I can’t just come in and try to take her away from everyone she knows and loves. I shouldn’t intrude in her life now.”

Patsy rolls her eyes. “How are you studying to be a lawyer, Jack? How does someone so smart manage to also be so stupid?” She waves a hand at him. “Never mind. Think about it for a bit.” She gets up, brushing grass off the back of her dress, and goes further up the hill to check on Polly. 

“How are you holding up?” Alexander asks quietly, taking advantage of the moment of solitude to check in. He lets go of John’s hand, letting him have a moment of freedom while no-one is watching them. John’s fingers spasm for a moment on the empty air. 

“Ok, I think,” John says quietly. “Thank you. For being here, and for not cussing anyone out.” He turns and looks at Alexander for a minute, the warm spring air and sunshine bringing a little color to his face. “I could tell you wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alexander says meaningfully. “And I still might before I’m done. Especially if they keep saying that kind of shit to you.”

“Don’t let the role go to your head,” John says, grinning at him a little sadly. “You don’t actually have to defend my honor, you know. They’re not wrong about any of it.”

“Yes they fucking are!” Alexander protests. “Her choices aren’t your responsibility, and you did everything you could, given the situation.”

“And if I hadn’t insisted on running as far away as I could as fast as I could, I would have seen what everyone else did, and maybe have been in a position to help,” John says mechanically. Alexander hates that he can basically hear the litany of self-accusation that’s marching through John’s head. “That’s absurd,” he says, almost spitting the words. “You’re not telling me you think you should have - what? Married her for the sake of her honor, or whatever? Given up your whole life to stay here and play family with someone you didn’t love?”

He shudders at the very idea. Alexander has worked so damn hard for every single step he’s made on the way to his dreams - the idea of giving up on them, of turning his back for the sake of a single mistake - it honestly has rattled him a bit. He’s always known there’s nothing for him that he doesn’t earn, and that there’s no safety net under his feet if he should fall. He’s lucky he’s never been in a position to have to choose, because there’s no way he would manage to be half as decent as John has been. They’d have to pry his dreams and ambitions from his cold, dead hands - and Alexander does mean that literally. 

And then there’s the other thought that’s rattling his serenity at the moment. The idea that John might have stayed here two years ago and never come back, never returned to go to law school and to try to keep the room from caving in on their heads and to eat awful free pizza with them while they laugh at Laf and Herc’s lack of subtlety -

It feels a bit like hearing a meteor has just missed striking the earth, and realizing you didn’t even know you’d been in danger until it had passed. He wishes suddenly that he hadn’t been courteous enough to let go of John’s hand - but that’s just Alexander being selfish. 

“Maybe,” John says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know, Alexander. I never wanted to stay, but now I hate the fact that I left.”

“Wait and evaluate it again in a few weeks,” Alexander says quietly. “The middle of a funeral is not a good time for calmly assessing your life choices with regard to the dead.” Ask him how he knows that, he dares the world bitterly, but John is far too good a person to press that question. 

They stay on the Hill in silence for a good long time, and hopefully it’s doing the Laurens more good than it is Alexander. He’s tense, now, thrumming with the anxiety of decisions he’s never been asked to make, and his fingers are itching for his books and his laptop, for work to bury himself in so he doesn’t have to think so much. By the time they finally head back to the Laurens’ house, the other four seem more at ease, though, and that does help.

Patsy drops them off outside the house with a quick comment that she’s got an errand to run, and she takes off again with a squeal of tires. Alexander shudders. 

“Remind me never to get in a car with her again,” he whispers to John, who looks at him quizzically. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” John asks, and Alexander just rolls his eyes. 

“We can sometimes be a bit blind to the faults of those we love,” he says philosophically, and follows Harry into the house. 

The problem with being back at the house, as he discovers within ten minutes, is that they’ve now entered that interminable part of the funeral process where people hang around with nothing to do for long stretches of time. It’s legitimately his least favorite part of every funeral he’s ever attended. He’s going to be sure to leave orders in his will that oblige the funeral planners to make sure there isn’t a second of this at his own funeral, Alexander vows, watching John and Harry and Polly drift aimlessly through the house and try to make conversation with one another. 

Alexander weighs the pros and cons of sneaking away to the guest room to get a bit of work done. He knows John would never protest, and would probably encourage him to go if he knew how antsy Alexander was getting, but if he does that, he’s not there to help and support John, which is, after all, the entire purpose of his coming along. He exchanges a few messages with Herc and Laf, establishing that they’re still trying to pretend they’re not up to anything, and telling them without going into detail that there’s a shit ton of drama in South Carolina. Laf is instantly distraught that he isn’t there, and Herc offers to come and knock heads together, if it will help. Alexander tells him to keep that option in reserve, just in case. 

Polly eventually talks John into sitting down to play chess with her, and Alexander has to button his lip by force to keep from offering advice. They’re both honestly pretty terrible at it, and while that makes them evenly matched, it just means Alexander wants to help both of them at once, which may be a little counterproductive. They hear the van pull up while John and Polly are in the middle of a tense stare-off over a badly managed pawn sacrifice, and Alexander is leaning over the board, arms wrapped around himself with the strain of not interrupting and correcting all of their mistakes at once. 

He doesn’t even turn around when he hears Patsy coming into the room, and neither does John. This turns out to be a graver tactical error than any that John is making on the chess board. 

“Cessie, look,” Patsy says cheerfully, in the sweetest, happiest voice Alexander has heard her use yet. He looks up instantly to see she’s got a baby balanced on her hip, and is pointing her attention towards John. “Look, baby. Who’s that?” 

John looks up too, and his mouth falls open in shock. The little girl could be Patsy’s own child, from the family resemblance, and her hair is all around her face in a riot of dark curls that make her eyes look even bigger than they had in the picture. She’s got a few fingers in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully on them, and takes them out to point at John with her whole spit-covered hand. 

“Da-Dee,” Frances says, her voice a piping little song, and Alexander feels his stone-cold heart melting. He steadies himself at once, and looks at John, who looks about ready to pass out.

“That’s right, baby!” Patsy cheers, and kisses her round little cheek. “Just like the pictures. That’s your daddy!” 

Frances keeps staring at John with those wide eyes, John’s eyes, and looks very pleased with herself for getting the question right. After a second, though, she puts her fingers back in her mouth and snuggles her head down into Patsy’s neck, as though she’s remembered to be shy. 

John doesn’t move. He just sits and stares at her, as though he’s seen a ghost. Alexander feels a sudden, ridiculous pang of jealousy. It’s clear he’s forgotten anyone else is even in the room. 

“Hi,” he says after a minute. His voice is so soft, and he barely keeps it steady for that one syllable. Alexander schools his jealousy ruthlessly. There’s no time for such nonsense. 

Frances picks her head up again, and looks at Patsy. “Da-Dee?” 

“That’s right,” Patsy says. “Your daddy.” She crouches down and sets Frances on the floor a few feet from John’s chair. “Go say hi, baby.”

The little girl wobbles for a moment, clearly torn, and then pads forward a few tiny steps in feet that are still inside footy pajamas. She stops just within touching distance of John, and looks up at him uncertainly, then glances back at Patsy for guidance. Patsy nods vehemently, smiling, and Frances looks back at her father. She puts out one chubby little hand and touches his knee, as if seeing if he’s real, and Alexander can basically watch John’s heart shatter in real time. He moves slowly, gently, reaching out his arms until Frances lifts her hands in a silent plea to be picked up, and John moves her onto his lap like she’s made of fragile glass. 

Alexander has known John for a good many years now. He’s familiar with John’s impulsive decision making, the way he’ll jump headlong into a rash idea and refuse to give it up, no matter what. He watches it happen in a matter of seconds, watches the fragile hope in John’s eyes harden into something deeper and more certain, and knows at once that this battle is already over. Frances has won the war without firing a single shot, and has taken John’s heart captive with a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, you guys. This is so many kinds of self-indulgent I'm almost sorry for it. (But I'm not, instead.) Thank you all for being so patient and lovely despite my flaky updates on this one. 
> 
> (A small Beach Shenanigans story, for those of you who were asking. You know what's fun? When one autistic kid bolts in one direction down an empty beach, and you go after her, and the other autistic kid takes off wandering in the other direction so you wind up chasing him down the beach for a mile with all the other kids in tow while every other parent on the beach looks at you pityingly. My fault for letting him bring a pinwheel, which made him completely tune out everything else! And while I was recovering from that, my ten year old tamed a flock of seagulls, named them all, and literally had them coming when she called them. Good times were had by all, regardless of the bolting. Also still sunburned here, and all of my non-white kids are making fun of me. They're so bewildered by pasty people like me!)


	6. six

“Got tired of babysitting, did they?” Harry asks Patsy in an unsurprised tone, and she rolls her eyes.

“They’re not even back from the viewing yet. Great Aunt Bertha’s on baby duty, and you know how happy she is not to have to do any work. She was glad to hand her over for a bit.” Patsy shakes her head, watching John and Frances with such a soft smile that Alexander half expects her to start crying. He himself, of course, is absolutely fine.

John is looking at Frances as if she’s a miracle, something beyond the reach of the ordinary world. He reaches out to touch her curls with one hand, barely grazing the surface of her riotous hair, and looks at Alexander in amazement. 

Alexander has known John for quite a few years now, and thought he’d seen him in practically every state of his existence - but there’s no word he’s familiar with for the way John looks right now. It almost feels wrong to be watching, as if they’re looking in on something they haven’t any right to see. 

“Hi,” John says again, after a long moment, and the smile that spreads across his face is - Alexander has to swallow hard and look away, almost undone. It’s absurd to be jealous of a baby, and he doesn’t have a clue why he is. Emotions are shit, anyway. 

“Da-Dee,” Frances says again, thoughtfully, and pops her thumb into her mouth as she studies John carefully. 

“She’s talking,” John says, wonder in every syllable. He doesn’t look away from his daughter, even as he’s talking to the others. “How can she be talking? And walking?”

“It would be concerning if she wasn’t by now,” Harry points out - a little too pointedly, to Alexander’s mind, but he’s not actually judge and jury. “She’s almost two, Jack.”

“Eighteen months,” John says, and Alexander can hear the ache of lost time dragging at his voice, pointing out to him every moment that he has already missed of her little life. He still hasn’t blinked, and looks like he’s keeping himself (and Frances) utterly still, as if afraid that he’ll drop her and break her if he even breathes. 

“She says lots of words now!” Polly says cheerfully, abandoning her chess game to fling herself on the floor next to John, poking Frances in a chubby little leg. “Hey Cessie! What’s my name?” 

Frances pulls her thumb out of her mouth with an audible pop and grins, toothy and a little slobbery, at her aunt. (Oh, that’s weird, Alexander’s brain puts in, trying to really fit the idea of Frances into his reality, now that she’s more than just an abstract concept.) “Powwy!” Frances declares joyfully. Polly crows with delight and swoops forward to give the baby a kiss, tickling her at the same time, and Frances gives a squeal of laughter, kicking her feet. 

“I’ve been trying to teach her to count, but it’s not going very well,” Polly tells John solemnly. “And Patsy and I have always shown her pictures of you. I knew you’d come for her eventually!”

“I-” John says. He sounds a bit strangled, even if he’s still looking at Frances like she’s learned to fly rather than just saying someone’s name incorrectly, Alexander thinks, and then wonders again why he’s so sour right now. “I should have-”

“No time for any of that,” Patsy says briskly. “Should haves and could haves are for people with the luxury of free time, oh brother of mine - and that’s not you right now.” She marches forward and gives John a little nudge, poking Frances gently on the nose at the same time. “Your baby girl is hungry, Jack. Afternoon snack is not negotiable with the little princess!”

“Pincess,” Frances repeats thoughtfully. “I pincess. Snack?” She looks up at John from under her eyelashes, hopeful and shy, and Alexander has seen that exact look on John’s face before more than once. It sends him for a bit of a mental spin again, and he can’t quite process thoughts for a few minutes, while John stands up, carrying Frances as if she’s twenty pounds of dynamite, and walks gingerly to the kitchen with her while Patsy gives orders like the gentle tyrant she is. 

He doesn’t follow John. He’s really not quite sure what’s happening right now, but it doesn’t seem like John needs his help at the moment. He’s not sure John still is aware of his existence. He hangs around uselessly for a few minutes, but Polly follows her siblings into the kitchen, and Harry is reading a book and has also apparently forgotten Alexander is there. He goes upstairs to the guest room, and unpacks his laptop and a few books, arranging them on the desk that’s been provided, and starts trying to remember what he’s meant to be doing. It’s his dissertation proposal, of course, only the second most important thing he’ll ever write, and he’s been looking forward to working on it for months.

He can’t even put a title on the page.

It’s the way John had been smiling at Frances. It keeps coming back to him, dancing before his eyes, and Alexander cannot get a clear grip on why it’s disturbing him so much. He’d wanted this for John - he’d been hoping John would get to meet his daughter on this trip ever since Alexander had heard of her existence and seen how much she obviously meant to him, but he hadn’t quite expected -

“Love at first sight,” Alexander mutters, scowling at an entirely inoffensive monograph that had never done anything to deserve such ill-treatment from him. That’s the problem. 

He’s seen friends fall in love quickly before, of course, but it’s always been what you expect of such relationships, especially in college. The flame tends to die out as fast as the initial attraction, leaving everyone with hopefully nothing more than a few good memories and a new person to awkwardly avoid in social settings. This isn’t like that, though. John isn’t like that. John’s never been in a relationship with anyone, as far as Alexander has been aware, and he’s absolutely not the type for quick flings or passing attachments. 

He’s going to lose John, Alexander thinks bleakly, adding his sources to his citation management program - something he can do without any mental effort. He’s probably already lost him. He saw the look in John’s eyes as resolve had taken over, and Alexander knows him well enough to read between the lines. John is going to leave New York, move back here, give up all his dreams to be with a wiggly little lump of a person who, while undeniably adorable, is not likely to be a great conversationalist or anything for a long time. 

John’s going to come back home, Alexander thinks bleakly, and everything is already falling apart. Their friendship and the house and movie nights and trying to help John with the hot water tank when it wants to explode in the winter - it’s all receding into the past as fast as one little girl can bat her eyelashes. What is he going to tell Herc and Laf?

Or he won’t, and maybe that would be worse. If John leaves Frances behind and comes back, how is he going to pick up where he left off? Now that he’s met her and fallen in love with those stupid curls and ridiculous freckles, how is he meant to go on as if nothing has changed - as if his world doesn’t revolve around a different star, now? What if he can’t stay, if the choice is taken from him, and he’s left to go back to life in the house with the empty little nursery he’s kept secret from everyone, even his best friends?

“I would never,” Alexander mutters to himself, pounding the keys of his poor laptop with way too much force. “Give it all up? Never.” Not for anything - not for a pair of pretty eyes or a smile, even one like that. Not with how hard he’s fought for every bit of what he has and everything he can hope for in the future. Nothing could induce him to sacrifice what he has. 

He doesn’t know what choice John is going to make.

“Oh, there you are,” Patsy says, walking in after an indeterminate amount of time. She’s not the least bit surprised to see him there, and she doesn’t bother to knock. “I was a bit surprised you’d vanished so suddenly.”

“I had some work to do,” Alexander says blankly, gesturing at the screen filled with basically no work, since he’s accomplished almost nothing. “I figured it might be a good time to absent myself.”

“Did you?” Patsy asks. She crosses her arms, looking at him thoughtfully. “Not sure about that, myself. I’d have thought you would have stuck around for something that important to Jack.”

“He didn’t seem to miss my absence,” Alexander retorts sharply. Who is Patsy to judge his fake relationship with her brother, anyway? 

Patsy rolls her eyes again. “Like he hasn’t been turning to try to tell you something every ten seconds, and then getting disappointed when he remembers you’re not there?” She shakes her head. “I really didn’t want to have to dismember you, Alexander. Jack is obviously fond of you.”

“Ha, ha,” Alexander says drily. “I’ll come if I’m needed, of course.” He makes to close the laptop and rise, but Patsy waves a hand at him.

“No, don’t bother just now. Dad just got home, and he and Jack are Having Words.” Alexander can practically hear the capital letters clicking into place, and he frowns.

“Problems?”

Patsy shrugs. “Only the whole ‘you’ve disappointed me and the family lineage, how dare you show your face here at dear Martha’s funeral,’ - that sort of thing.” She’s still watching Alexander intently. “He’s going to try to run Jack off again, you know.”

“I’m not sure it will work,” Alexander tells her honestly. “Not after he’s met Frances.”

“She’s a doll,” Patsy agrees, face easing into a fond smile. “Sweetest little girl in the world, until you get her temper up.”

“Sounds familiar,” Alexander says, trying to suppress a smile of his own, thinking of some of John’s legendary battles with the plumbing. 

“The Mannings don’t want her,” Patsy says abruptly, like he’s somehow earned access to this information. “Not really. They feel like they’re too old to be raising another child, especially after how things ended with Martha.”

“Wouldn’t really matter if they did,” Alexander points out, feeling like he’s walking on the edge of a particularly crumbly canyon wall. “John’s the father, right? He’s got parental rights, which outweigh any claim they could make.”

“Martha didn’t name him on the birth certificate,” Patsy replies. “He’s probably going to have to ask for DNA testing to prove she’s his, which slows things down a bit. It’s not the Mannings I’m worried about, though.”

“Your father.” Alexander is certain, and doesn’t make it a question. Patsy nods. 

“Not that he wants to raise another child himself, but he was so devoted to Martha, and Cessie’s his only grandchild. If he doesn’t think Jack is fit to take care of her, he’ll do everything he can to keep her here.”

Alexander is caught between two sudden, warring impulses - the first, to insist that of course John is fit and should obviously get to have custody of his daughter. The other, a darker and quieter impulse, wants to sow seeds of uncertainty. Would it be such a bad thing if Frances stayed here and John got to visit as often as he liked, without having to take on the responsibility of single parenthood? Would it be so bad if life could go on as usual? Should John really have to give up his law degree, unfinished, and hang up his hopes and dreams over a misguided decision? 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Patsy watches him for a moment more, and then sighs. “Come on. You should be there when he gets done talking to Dad. Based on past history, he’s likely to need whatever support you can offer.” She looks at him a little uncertainly, as if she’s now not sure how much value he offers, and Alexander can’t really contradict her. He shuts down his computer and follows her meekly, trying not to follow every possible mental track along the next twenty years of possibilities, based on whatever decisions they make in the next few days. Alexander’s life, which has been so settled and certain for some time now that free pizza has been the most exciting thing to come along, is now feeling distinctly wobbly. He doesn’t like it. 

Polly’s entertaining the baby in the living room when they get back downstairs, and Alexander has to wince a little at how casually she handles the fragile little person who is now carrying around John’s entire heart. There’s none of John’s excess caution - Polly is obviously well accustomed to playing with Frances, and knows what she can handle. She hauls Frances up onto her hip when Alexander sits down and marches over with all of her older sister’s certainty, bringing the baby to stare at Alexander. 

“Cessie, this is Alexander,” Polly says, and makes Frances’ hand wave a little at him. “Alexander. Can you say that?”

Frances eyes him for a long minute, and Alexander has to catch his breath again at how much she looks like John in a thoughtful moment, especially around the eyes. 

“Alexander,” Polly prompts again, and Alexander, feeling stupid, waves at Frances.

“Hi,” he says. He doesn’t want to smile at the little agent of chaos. 

“Dodo,” Frances says, with great certainty. 

Dodo? 

“Dodo?” Alexander asks, wrinkling his nose. “Like, the extinct bird?”

“No,” Patsy says, grinning behind a hand. “Like, Dodo. As in, that’s your name now, according to Cessie.” She shrugs helplessly, and Alexander knows she’s laughing at him. “She tends to stick with nicknames for a long time, until she gets them straightened out.”

“Don’t feel too bad,” Harry calls, still immersed in his book. “Patsy was ‘Assy’ until about a month ago.” 

The familiarity with which all the Laurens children speak of Frances cements a few more realities for Alexander. They’ve clearly spent a great deal of time caring for her, and all of them are going to be dedicated to being certain Frances winds up well taken care of. 

“Go see Dodo,” Polly urges, heaving Frances into Alexander’s lap without bothering to ask if either of them are interested. Alexander tenses up, very much unused to being responsible for the life of a tiny and poorly-developed human, and Frances doesn’t look much more pleased with the prospect. She’s got the beginnings of a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth, and Alexander really really doesn’t want to be responsible for making John’s kid cry. He tries for a smile. 

“Hi,” he says again, and doesn’t add “you adorable little vector of instability,” which gets him several more points for his mental tally. They engage in a staring competition for a few minutes, until Alexander gives up, really unsure who was ahead. Frances looks pleased and pats him gently on the nose with her whole hand, and then sticks her thumb back in her mouth and puts her head on his shoulder, apparently now pleased to use him as a pillow. Little princess was right, he thinks grouchily, and tries to make his face stop smiling at her. 

“Oh,” John says. Alexander looks up, and sees him poised in the doorway to the living room, as though he’s been turned to stone in the act of walking in. He can’t figure out the expression on John’s face at all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. Is this short? Somewhat. Is it late? Excruciatingly so. I can explain!
> 
> So basically, my darlings, you just experienced two months of Manic Kivrin, who cannot stop writing. That doesn't last forever - in fact, it's never lasted that long before. So now I'm on the flip side, where I hate everything I write with a burning passion, it is excruciating to post anything, and I very much want to take everything down and burn it. Which I will not be doing, because I'm well aware that I have Brain Demons and I'm very fond of you fine folks, which is why you get words now. I can't honestly tell you what the update schedule looks like this side of the crash, but I'll do my best to be somewhat consistent. It's hard though because now writing is work rather than oxygen to me, and I have to motivate myself to do it rather than forcing myself NOT to write in order to take care of real life obligations. 
> 
> Anyway! Love you all very much, I am NOT giving up on this story, and I hope you'll bear with me! <3


	7. Seven

Alexander immediately has to quash the instinct that urges him to throw Frances off his lap and pretend he hadn’t been doing anything wrong - certainly nothing that would make John look at him like that, with such a bewildered expression. He almost looks hurt, Alexander thinks numbly, his brain refusing to work fast enough to get him out of this situation. He could throw Polly under the bus, blame her for sicking the little munchkin on him. He glances down again, and blinks in surprise.

Frances is asleep. She’d been awake ten seconds before, he was sure, but she’s definitely asleep now - and, yeah, he verifies with an internal groan. She’s definitely drooling on his shirt, around the thumb that she’s still got jammed in her mouth.

“Look,” he says quietly, doing his best to smile at John, who still hasn’t moved. “She’s definitely related to you. I put her to sleep, too.” John just blinks at them, cocking his head to one side the way he does when he’s trying to work something out.

“Are you just super boring?” Polly asks, grinning at him, and Patsy gives a snort of barely suppressed laughter. Alexander has to scramble quickly, as he’s just realized that declaration might sound different in the context of supposedly being John’s devoted boyfriend. (Still the worst word, by the way.)

“Only when I’m trying to talk about my academic work,” he says, shooting John a quick, horrified glance, begging him mentally to step in and say something. “Would you know, I can never get more than twenty minutes into explaining a topic before he’s out like a light.”

“Alexander once talked about his thesis topic for six hours, non-stop,” John says, his voice very careful and constrained, but he gives a smile that almost looks believable. “I listened to the whole thing, for the record, so you can stop slandering my good -” he breaks off, and sobers. “Slandering me,” he finishes awkwardly. He steps forward.

Alexander wonders how it is that he can tell, from the body language of that one step, that John is stepping _away_ from the room where he and his father had been talking, rather than _towards_ the living room or any of its occupants. The two motions would look identical, certainly - but there’s no doubt about it.

Maybe he knows John a bit better than he thinks?

And yes, John did listen to his whole rambling dissertation on his, well, dissertation, but that had been one time last month. Usually he does fall asleep, or ignore Alexander after a while when he’s just talking for the sake of it, but he listens when it matters.

John hasn’t stopped staring at him, and he doesn’t move any closer. Alexander twitches a little, suddenly feeling particularly trapped by the tiny, warm, slightly-damp weight of his friend’s baby, and the way he’s staring. He wants to do something - to move, to pace, to go over and see if he can work out exactly what’s wrong with John, to have him looking like that and standing so still, as if he’s just as trapped, even though he’s standing in the middle of the room with no constraints on him. He sits as still as he can. He’s no expert in little children, but he knows enough to avoid waking a sleeping toddler.

“As boring as you undoubtedly are,” Patsy says, laughter evident in her voice, “you can’t take all the credit for this one. We’ve kept Cessie up way past her normal naptime. She was bound to crash at some point.”

“She can nap in my room,” Polly offers hopefully, but Patsy shakes her head.

“‘Fraid not, Polly Lobster. I’ve got to get her back to Great Aunt Bertha before the Mannings decide I’ve kidnapped her.”

John starts forward at that, an involuntary step, but Alexander sees him reign himself in. It’s not one of his very greatest personal gifts; Alexander is impressed. “Now?” John asks, still keeping his voice unnaturally calm.

“For today,” Patsy says regretfully. “But I’m telling them we’re taking her tomorrow, at least. They don’t need to be worried about chasing after her on the day of Martha’s funeral.” Alexander can see John flinch at that, just a tiny reaction - he wouldn’t see it at all if he wasn’t so familiar with John’s moods and expressions. “You should come, Jack.”

John shakes his head, almost violently. “I can’t. I-” he stops, and visibly calms himself. “I can’t go back there. To the Manning’s house. I mean.” He blinks again, finally looking away from Alexander. “They obviously don’t want me around any more than I want to be there, and I don’t want to impose.”

That’s at least three different kinds of bullshit, Alexander thinks, and awards John a few mental points of his own for whatever it is he’s trying to do, there. The effort alone deserves commendation.

“Fair enough,” Patsy agrees. “You want to bring her out to the car, then?”

John looks back at Frances with an open longing that’s almost indecent in its touchingness, but he shakes his head. “She doesn’t really know me. If she wakes up being carried by a stranger, it will upset her. I don’t want to scare her.”

“Hmmm,” Patsy says. She watches her brother for a long moment, and Alexander decides approvingly that she can see through John’s shields at least as well as he can. “You have a point,” she concedes at last. “There’ll be lots more time tomorrow.” She comes over and scoops Frances effortlessly out of Alexander’s arms, leaving him feeling oddly chilled and exposed. Of course, that may be the rapidly cooling damp spot on his shirt at fault.

John stands rigidly in the same spot until Patsy has made her way outside, following Polly, who is opening all the doors for her and chattering away at a very quiet but blistering pace. Harry is pretending very hard not to be paying any attention to them from behind his book, but Alexander has noted how few pages he’s turning now, and knows they’ve got no chance of private conversation here. He stands up, his arms oddly awkward and empty, and gestures with his head towards the stairs. He’s very glad John is a master of nonverbal communication, because he takes the hint and leads the way out of the living room and up the stairs to the guest room.

Alexander shuts the door quietly and turns to look at John, who slumps into the desk chair, heedless of Alexander’s careful mountains of books. “Spill, Laurens,” he says, perching himself on the end of the bed, close enough that they can talk quietly. “You’re thinking at least ten different things right now, and eight of them look like they’re about to make you vomit.”

“That’s an understatement,” John says with a hollow little laugh. “I don’t have the first clue what I’m thinking, but it’s at least twenty different things.”

“And my point on the vomiting stands,” Alexander points out. John doesn’t deny it.

“I’m a dad, Alexander,” John says, his voice shifting back to the register of wonder that Alexander had seen in his face when he first held Frances. “It’s not just an - an idea, anymore, or something that didn’t really happen. I’m a father.”

That’s impossible to argue, so Alexander just nods. “You’re _her_ father,” he points out, just in case that might be helpful at all, and John’s eyes go even wider and more misty-looking. He’s not sure if that earns him points, or if he should be deducting them.

“Yeah,” John breathes. “I didn’t know it would be so-” he gestures vaguely with both hands, as if that’s conveying meaning somehow. Maybe it does, in the special Fatherhood Club, but Alexander is not a member there, and can’t parse any of it. He nods again. “She’s so perfect,” John says wistfully.

“My shirt would beg to differ,” Alexander says, wrinkling his nose at the damp spot.

“I want to keep her, Alexander,” John says, his words sudden and rushed. “It’s like - it’s like nothing I’ve ever wanted before.”

Alexander’s heart sinks all the way down to his toes, and he forces himself to nod grimly. It’s no different than he had feared, but he feels the ground shifting beneath his feet. He wasn’t prepared for this when he left New York. “OK,” he says.

“But I can’t.” John looks at him, directly, with no hint of distraction now. “I can’t do that to her. I can’t take her away from everyone here. She deserves better than that - better than me.”

“Whoah,” Alexander says, holding up both hands. Something in John’s delivery of the last sentence strikes him as utterly wrong - like he’s repeating something he’s been told, rather than expressing his own thought. “Hold the fuck up. Run that last bit by me again?”

“I’m not cut out to be her father,” John says, looking a bit like someone is vivisecting him. “I mean, I wasn’t here for any of it, for the first year and a half. I should have been here, if I wanted to be in her life.”

“Didn’t you make it pretty clear that you wanted to be in her life, and then Martha cut you out?” Alexander asks.

“I could have left school and come back here,” John says bleakly. “I chose school over her.”

“You chose to keep your incredibly competitive scholarship and admission to an exceptionally good law school,” Alexander corrects, feeling himself getting heated. “Walking away from that would have been so stupid.”

“But I could have,” John says. “And I didn’t. So what right do I have to step in now and try to take her away?”

“You’re literally her father,” Alexander points out. He’s grinding his teeth just a little, annoyed beyond words to find himself arguing this side of things. He doesn’t want to have to be the one to talk John into ruining their lives - but he can hear Henry Laurens coming out in John’s words, and he really doesn’t like the way John looks or sounds right now. “You’ve got every right. You’re her only living parent, now.”

“It takes more than DNA to make someone a parent,” John murmurs. “I don’t have a clue how to be a father. Even if I tried, I mean, and wouldn’t that just be doing her even more of a disservice?”

“The Mannings are moving away,” Alexander says bluntly. “And Martha is gone. One way or another, Frances’ world is changing radically. You have to decide if you want to be part of that or not, John, because nobody else can decide that for you.”

“Of course I want to!” John’s eyes flash, which is the first sign of a fight Alexander has seen from him in far too long. He awards himself a point. John Laurens is meant to fight, not to back down and bow his head in shame before the words of his father or a jumped-up set of snobs like the Mannings. “I’ve always wanted to, since before she was born!”

Alexander spreads his arms wide. “There you go! So do it, Laurens! Don’t let them tell you you can’t, especially when you haven’t even been given an opportunity to try.”

He really ought to stop removing the floorboards from beneath his own feet, he thinks glumly. But John is looking at him with an intensity and a light that he can’t resist, and he resigns himself to the inevitable. He came to help John. Apparently now he’s going to help John to destroy Alexander’s life. Cool.

“I don’t even know where to start,” John says breathlessly, jumping up from the chair and starting to pace.

“Your sister said you’d probably need a DNA test,” Alexander offers. Might as well start shoveling while he’s already down here under the floorboards, he thinks resignedly. “Not that it should be necessary to anyone with functional optic nerves.”

“You think she looks like me?” John asks, hopeful and almost desperate, and Alexander laughs.

“I bet if I search this house I could find a baby picture of you that you wouldn’t be able to tell apart from that little girl.”

“I thought she’d look like Martha,” John says quietly, looking torn-open again in that weird way that Alexander cannot parse. He frowns.

“Would that have been a problem?” John looks at him, and doesn’t answer, but he’s gone distant enough that Alexander thinks there’s more to it than simply hoping his daughter would look like him. “Weren’t you guys friends?”

“Sort of,” John says carefully. “When we were younger.”

That’s another layer of weird in all of this, Alexander thinks, making a mental note.

“Anyway,” John says, shaking away something dark, and focusing again. “I need to look up what I’d have to do - DNA testing or whatever - to establish I’m really her father. I don’t know how long that might take.” He looks at Alexander beseechingly, and Alexander shrugs.

“Find me a library around here with decent Wi-Fi and I don’t mind staying as long as needed. I can keep myself busy.”

“It’s not,” John says, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “It might not be that easy?”

“What?” Alexander asks suspiciously.

“My father doesn’t think I’ve got any business taking her, and he’s probably right,” John says in a rush. “But he won’t try to stop me if he thinks I can really do what’s best for her. Take care of her properly and everything.”

“Good?” Alexander says, not sure where he’s going.

“But if I try to take her without his blessing, he’ll cut us both off,” John explains miserably. “The house, the inheritance he wants to leave Frances - everything.”

“The house?” Alexander asks, feeling particularly slow. He hasn’t had anything like enough coffee today.

“In New York,” John says, frowning. “I can make it work, I think, if he lets me keep the house, but if I had to pay for housing, too, I wouldn’t be able to make ends meet.”

“You’d bring Frances back to New York,” Alexander says slowly. That scenario had somehow not occurred to him.

“Of course,” John says. “I’ve only got another year of law school. I can’t walk away now - not if I want to be able to provide for her.” His eyes are going a little shiny again, Alexander notes, as if starting to see possibilities in the future. “But my dad would have to be convinced that I could take proper care of Frances.” He blinks a few times, and looks at Alexander very very pointedly. “That _we_ could take care of her.”

“Oh,” Alexander says. “Right. Because.” He gestures back and forth between himself and John, hoping to encompass all of the everything he can’t find words for.

“Right,” John says, and looks at him hopefully. A starving puppy might look at someone that way if they were eating a steak dinner.

He thinks furiously. On the one hand, he’s suddenly very excited about the potential prospect of not losing John. He could come back to New York and keep living with them - but his life would doubtlessly be impossibly altered by the presence of a toddler. He wouldn’t have any free time at all, and the idea of John being a responsible adult and parent while Alexander continues to live his glorified student life is a bit strange. But if he’s going to even get the chance to try, he needs Alexander’s help. Suddenly the originally daunting prospect of pretending to be romantically involved seems quaint and distant.

“So basically your father is going to be evaluating our parenting skills in the next few days?” Alexander asks, his voice a little weak.

“Yeah,” John says. “It’s not like I’m about to ditch you just because I’ve got Frances, now, after all.”

If only that were true, Alexander thinks gloomily. John already barely has enough time for him, and never as much time as he’d like. There’s a reason he likes to pester John at all his odd jobs and talk at him for hours about academic questions, and he really really cannot afford to let himself think too much about any of that right now, because John needs his help.

The world is still crumbling beneath his feet, but he can shore up John’s little corner of it, at least. It’s clear John has way too much on his mind to think clearly - hence statements like his last. Alexander can help, in whatever ways John needs him to.

“Now aren’t you glad you didn’t go with the Craigslist rent-a-boyfriend?” Alexander whispers, and John grins, lightning-fast and brighter than sunshine, and Alexander has to ignore the way his heart flutters at that, because he is not here for his stupid malfunctioning heart and its dramatics. He’s got work to do.

They are going to parent harder than anyone has ever parented before.

~~~~~

Patsy is watching them with a little hint of suspicion over dinner at a local restaurant that evening, no-one having felt up to cooking that night. Alexander is well aware that his own behavior when Frances showed up is probably the cause, and he does everything he can to make up for it, playing the role of attentive boyfriend (ugh) to perfection. He has to give himself credit, really. He would apparently make a really good partner to the right person if he ever had time and interest.

John’s entering the spirit of the thing, too, and is working hard to do things like laugh at Alexander’s jokes and tell stories that actually put him in a good light. He touches Alexander’s arm multiple times, and even grabs his hand at one point. His dedication to the cause is admirable, Alexander thinks, and notices uselessly that there are freckles on the back of his hand, even on his fingers, as he holds onto Alexander’s hand.

Henry ignores them with a thoroughness that feels very intentional. He delivers a lecture on the importance of proper attire and behavior at the funeral the next day, and looks at Polly very pointedly.

“We know how to handle funerals, Dad,” Patsy says, her voice betraying more anger than seems warranted, and John’s hand clutches Alexander’s a little tighter.

“I hope that is true,” Henry says warningly. “This is not a time for public displays.”

“You know,” Harry chimes in, a note of acid in his voice. “In some cultures, they have a very weird tradition that when someone dies, their loved ones mourn them. Strange, isn’t it? Sometimes with actual displays of emotion, even.”

Henry glares at him. “You’d do better to focus on your studies and leave the attempts at humor to others.”

“In some cultures,” Harry starts again, and then winces. Alexander surmises Patsy has kicked him, under the table.

By the time dinner is over, Alexander is exhausted from the weight of the things that are going unsaid all around the table. He gets the idea that the Laurens family would be able to politely tiptoe around just about any subject of real emotional importance, up to and including the apocalypse, if required. John’s silence about so many things - Frances, and Martha, and the whole blowup and estrangement with his family - is starting to make more sense the longer Alexander spends with them.

The sleepless night is also getting to him, and he can see the lines of exhaustion in John’s face, too. He’s very glad when Patsy sends everyone to bed early, arguing that they all need a good night’s sleep before the funeral.

He stops John after they’ve gone to their room, before either of them can slip into the bathroom to change and brush their teeth. “I’m sorry,” he says, a little formally. John frowns in confusion. “For just vanishing earlier, when Frances got here.”

John shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. “Alexander, do you think I don’t know how you’re pining for your books?” John asks, grinning. “I promise I won’t get jealous if you sneak away for a secret rendezvous with your scholarship. But you did miss the cutest thing the world has ever seen.” He grins at that, somehow proud and bashful and uncertain all at once.

_No, I didn’t_ , Alexander thinks.

Nothing has changed between them in the past twenty-four hours. They’re still exactly the same as they were, and the bed occupies the same dimensions, and the whole ruse is just as much a fake as it was before.

But somehow, as they both climb into bed that night, there’s considerably less concern. They both keep to their own side, and Alexander braces himself for another long and miserable night.

John is snoring within five minutes, and Alexander lets himself relax, maybe for the first time in days. They can do this. They can handle this, together, and then he can go home and bury all of his inconvenient and inappropriate sentiments under the mountain of academic work that’s always waiting for him.

He looks over his shoulder, to where John is just barely visible in the dim light, even this close in proximity. This is fake, of course. All of it is - the hand holding, and the co-parenting, and this quiet, intimate closeness of shared tiredness, and shared letting go of burdens. It’s not real, and it’s not going to last, so he might as well enjoy it while he can.

He lets himself sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Poor emotionally constipated Alexander. This is not going to be easy on him! It's almost like not dealing with your emotional issues isn't the very best plan (she says, kicking all her own emotional issues under the bed where they can't be seen).
> 
> You guys are the absolute best, and I adore you so much. Thank you, an impossible number of times, for how lovely and kind you've been. Thank you for reading my ridiculous shit, thank you for sticking with me when I get weird or life gets tough. Thanks. - Kivrin. 
> 
> (Also, I decided baking lessons for five kids was a good way to study math today. It was, but I will also never get my kitchen unburied from dishes ever again. Just so you know I love you, because I still wrote anyway after that.)


	8. eight

Alexander is not usually an early riser. His tendency to stay up working far too late into the night translates into mornings that are slower and later than they ought to be, unless he’s got an early lecture to attend or discussion section to conduct. It’s one of his main academic failings, honestly. Academia values early morning productivity far too greatly. At least right now, though, no-one is waiting on unanswered ungodly-early emails, as they’re all on break for the summer. 

So it’s very strange to wake up without an alarm or, what’s more likely, an annoyed housemate shouting at him to wake up and turn off his damned alarm. He lets his eyes drift open slowly, feeling more rested than he has in a long while, and half-expecting it to be almost noon. 

The light coming in through the gauzy curtains is tinged with pink, and a quick estimation tells him it’s probably a little past six in the morning. That seems like a far better time to be going to sleep than to be waking up, Alexander thinks, and drowsily contemplates the idea of going back to sleep for a while. He doesn’t have anything today, and-

The part of his brain that notices important things finally comes online, and Alexander has to use every bit of willpower he has to keep himself from flinging himself violently off the bed. 

Somehow, in the middle of the night, he and John have managed to leave their secure positions on the far boundaries of the bed, and have wound up tangled together in the middle. It’s not like they’re cuddling or anything, Alexander thinks frantically, trying to figure out exactly where all of his limbs are without moving a muscle that might potentially wake John. There’s nothing tidy or snuggly about it. John’s elbow is in the side of his neck, and Alexander has managed to get his legs all tangled up with John’s, somehow. One of his hands is somehow half-lost in John’s curls, and the other is fast asleep underneath his own chest. They must look a bit like two ragdolls who have been thrown into a toybox by a careless child, Alexander thinks, and doesn’t even let himself breathe deeply. Thank god John’s face is turned away, and he’s still sound asleep.

For himself, Alexander honestly could not care less. He’s always been fairly tactile with his friends, and has fallen asleep draped over Laf several times. He and Herc once passed out drunk on the same couch after a far-too-celebratory graduation party and woke up way more cuddly than he and John are now - but this is different, somehow. Part of it is that he can imagine with horrifying clarity just how flustered and upset John would be if he were to wake up in this compromising position, and he really doesn’t want to think about that reaction. He needs to figure out how to get himself out without waking John.

The problem? He doesn’t want to. 

The air outside the blanket is just chilly enough that he thinks a little wistfully about ducking his head under the covers and just staying there for a while. The bed is way more comfortable than the ancient and somewhat questionable mattress he scrounged up back at home, and the even sounds of John’s sleepy breathing are so soothing he could be asleep again in a minute, surrounded by warmth and comfort and only a little bit throttled by an elbow to the neck. It’s so tempting. 

He could stay like this forever, Alexander thinks sleepily - and that jolts him awake again, because the breathtaking inappropriateness of that thought is only equalled by how incredibly stupid it is. As if John would want anything of the sort, if he were awake. Alexander sort of feels like he’s taking advantage just by being awake and not immediately putting an end to the whole situation. 

Alexander makes himself think again of how bothered John would be if he were awake, and starts the slow, gradual process of easing himself away without waking John. It’s like a very high stakes game of pick-up-sticks. He withdraws his hand slowly, not letting himself think about how very soft John’s hair is under his fingers, and doesn’t react when John reacts by burying his face a little deeper into his own pillow. Feet and legs are harder to disentangle, and Alexander spends some time thinking about how awkward and badly designed they are, in general. By the time he’s gotten himself free and inched slowly away to a respectable distance, the light coming in the window is distinctly golden, and the tinge of pink has faded away. He dresses silently, trying not to sulk about the loss of warm blankets and blissful unconsciousness.

OK, Alexander thinks, taking stock of the situation. What now? 

The answer to that question, as to most questions in his life, is probably coffee. He can rarely go wrong with picking coffee as the answer. It’s another effort of will to make himself actually leave the room. He’s rarely felt such an urge to linger in a room with nothing happening, but there’s such a feeling of peace to this place right now, like a little haven against whatever is waiting for them outside, that he really doesn’t want to leave. But coffee calls, and he creeps his way to the door and lets himself out with a minimum of noise. Still, when he glances back in as he’s closing the door, he could almost swear John had been awake and watching him go through barely-open eyelids. 

He rejects that idea, though, because John is clearly still sleeping. He would have known if he’d woken John up. 

He has to question that again, though, when John appears downstairs less than five minutes later, still somewhat pink and sleepy-looking, but definitely conscious. John doesn’t make eye contact - but, to be fair, Alexander is avoiding the same thing, so it’s hard to tell who is at fault. 

No-one else seems to be up yet, not even Polly the Unstoppable, and John knows Alexander well enough to give him time to drink a few cups of coffee before he tries to talk. 

“What’s the plan today?” Alexander finally asks, when it feels like he’s thinking at a decent approximation of human speed, finally. John shrugs. He doesn’t look nearly as well-rested as Alexander feels. 

“I’m just here to go where I’m told and look appropriately chastened, guilty, and grief-stricken,” he says, with a bit more bitterness than Alexander expects. He raises an eyebrow in question, and John wrinkles his nose. “Sorry. I really hate funerals.”

“Everyone hates funerals,” Alexander reminds him. He doesn’t have time to enumerate the ways in which funerals suck, but he doesn’t think he needs to, either. “Any particular reason you’re meant to be looking guilty, though?”

John stares bleakly out the kitchen window. There’s not much to see there but an old oak tree, full and broad-limbed; one of the big branches is broken off, about fifteen feet up. It’s not an inherently fascinating sight. “My father tells me it’s my fault.”

“Your fault?” Alexander barely manages to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. “How the hell is Martha dying in a car accident your fault? You weren’t even here!”

“And that’s why I’m at fault,” John mutters, rubbing one eye with a fist. It’s a startlingly childlike motion, somehow, and wildly endearing, which is - inappropriate, Alexander reminds himself sternly. He’s not there to be endeared to. “He thinks all of it - the drugs, driving under the influence - all if it was because I left.”

“Is that just his batshit theory, or did he get that from Martha?” Alexander asks, hoping he’s not pushing too far. It’s still absolutely wild that he had known none of this a few days ago, and he feels genuinely concerned about the possibility of going too far and damaging his relationship with John. Everything feels so impossibly fragile right now. 

“Both,” John replies quietly. “She would have loved him to believe I’d ruined every part of her life, I think. He’s the one who told her not to let me see Frances, you know.”

“What is his problem?” Alexander hisses, checking over his shoulder. It’s odd, to feel like they might be overheard; it’s never a problem they’ve had at home, where nothing has ever been anything but common knowledge among the four of them. Or so he’d thought. Obviously he’d been wrong on a few points, at least. “It wasn’t always like this, was it? I thought you guys had a pretty good relationship, up until recently.”

“We did,” John says wistfully. Alexander has some pretty clear memories from their college years of John talking about his father with fondness and admiration, and he’d come to town once and taken their group of friends out for dinner. There had been no sense of antipathy between the Laurens men at that point, he’s sure of it. “And then some things happened. I let him down very badly, a few times in succession, and things haven’t been the same since. He doesn’t think much of my life choices, or trust me with anything more significant than standing and keeping my mouth shut.” 

“So when you say you have to convince him that you’d be a fit parent for Frances, you’re talking about genuinely changing his mind?” Alexander asks. 

John nods. “It’s probably not possible. He doesn’t seem particularly open to the prospect.” He looks away from the window with an obvious effort, and makes himself look at Alexander. “I’m sorry, though. You don’t have to be involved. I shouldn’t be asking any of this of you. You didn’t sign up for any of this.”

He wants to deflect that sort of sincerity with a joke, or some sort of sarcastic aside, but they’re burying Frances’ mother today, and his best friend is going through an entire mountain of shit right now. He keeps eye contact, and doesn’t let John look away. 

“I signed up for whatever it took,” he says quietly. “I’m on your side.” He unwraps his hand from his coffee mug and holds it out between them, hoping this isn’t the step too far he’d been worried about taking. John stares at it for a long moment, and then takes it, wrapping his fingers around Alexander’s with such care, he might be made of glass.

“I,” John says, his voice uncertain. “There’s something I should-”

“Can I have coffee?” Polly says, appearing out of nowhere. Her hair is the biggest tangled nightmare Alexander has ever seen, and John about jumps out of his skin. He doesn’t let go of Alexander’s hand, though.

“When did you get so sneaky?” John asks, heaving a sigh and smiling down at his little sister. “And no, you can’t have coffee! You’re practically a baby, still!”

“Harry always lets me,” Polly objects. 

“Harry is a bad influence,” John says sternly. He’s not very good at being stern. “How about hot chocolate instead?”

“Fine,” Polly says, long-suffering, and then stands there and waits patiently until it’s clear that John is going to have to go and make it for her. Alexander lets go of his hand as he pulls away, and it feels like a loss, for some reason.

Patsy shows up before he’s done, and Alexander stands up to offer her his seat. She laughs a little, and pats him on the shoulder. “It’s OK, Hamilton. You’ve been to The Hill and suffered through a family dinner, so you’re basically family at this point. You don’t have to mind your manners quite so much anymore.”

“You make me mind my manners, and I am family!” Polly objects. She’s already wearing a hot chocolate mustache that goes surprisingly well with her wild hair, and Patsy kisses the top of her head fondly as she crosses to check the refrigerator for something, and then turns back to face them.

“Right,” Patsy tells Polly. “That’s because family is inherently unfair, Polly Lobster. And on those lines -” she faces John more directly. “I’m going to the Mannings to pick up Cessie, Jack. Do you want to come?”

John blanches, shaking his head automatically, and leans over the slightest bit, until his arm is pressed against Alexander’s, as if for comfort. “No,” he says. “I mean, I want to see her, but-”

“Not a problem,” Patsy cuts in. “That means you’re on Harry and Polly-wrangling duty, then. They’ve both got to be ready to go by ten, and you know how hard it is to get Harry moving in the morning.”

“Right,” John agrees. He hesitates just a moment, and Alexander can almost feel him gearing up to ask, so he saves him the trouble.

“Could I come with you?” He gives Patsy his most charming smile. “I’d like to make a more lasting impression on Miss Frances than as a particularly absorbent pillow, if she’s more likely to be awake now.”

“Sure,” Patsy agrees slowly. She looks to John for approval, and he nods, giving Alexander’s elbow a quick squeeze of appreciation. “Come on, then. We’ll bring her back here and then we can all drive to the church together.”

But she doesn’t leave yet. She stands there, obviously waiting for something, and Alexander’s mind races uselessly for a while, trying to figure it out. He’s dressed and caffeinated, so what else - 

Oh. Of course. Watching little Polly looking expectantly between John and Alexander is the hint he’d been searching for. They’re expecting some sort of proper goodbye, since they haven’t really seen the two of them formally part since their arrival, and Alexander panics silently, trying to remember how people act. How do romantically entangled people bid one another farewell when setting out on mundane errands? It shouldn’t be this difficult, of course. If he were engaged in this farce with Laf, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second. He’d give Laf a quick kiss, say something that sounds enough like it might have a double meaning to make people think twice, and saunter off, easy as breathing. 

But this isn’t just a different kettle of fish - it’s an entirely different school of cookery, he thinks, flailing uselessly inside his head. He can’t just do that to John, with John, however he wants to think about it. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to kiss John. That thought comes as a tiny, explosive revelation. He does, very much so - but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss John and have it be a lie. 

Which opens up whole new vistas of doubts and anxieties and revelations that he can just tell his brain is waiting to spring on him, but there’s no time right now. The moment has stretched on way too long, past the point of awkwardness and into really questionable territory. He looks at John and sees a mirror image of his own clueless dithering, just in a more sightly package. For a moment, his brain tortures him with the image of the two of them standing there, frozen, for all of eternity, neither of them able to make the first move.

Well, fuck that, Alexander decides, and moves toward John with nothing like a plan in mind; he’s just acting, and hoping he figures out what he’s doing at some point before he does it. Besides, he tells himself, this is ridiculously low-stakes stuff. There’s no reason to be making such a big deal about it. 

Except there is, there really is, because while this is all make-believe for John’s family, it really really isn’t for him, and he suspects it isn’t for John, either. Their friendship, their ability to maintain the relationship they already have, is on the line because Alexander decided to open his mouth and volunteer for this job when he had no clue of what he was getting himself into. The feeling of fragility from before is back, especially when he looks at John and sees something very much like fear in his eyes, and there’s no getting around the fact that they’ve royally screwed things up. How are they ever going to go back to normal after this, when Alexander knows all the secrets John’s been hiding and what he looks like when he’s sleeping and how he smiles when he looks at his daughter? 

“Hey,” he says, and offers John a genuine smile; he doesn’t try to hide the worry. “We’ll be right back, OK?”

“Yeah,” John says. He doesn’t blink or look away, and he reaches out and takes hold of Alexander’s arm, as if he’s about to drift away. “It’s going to be fine, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Alexander promises, mirroring his grip, and they both know they aren’t talking about riding with Patsy or even managing everything with Frances and the funeral. “It is. I promise.”

John nods, looking slightly reassured, and Alexander squeezes his arm just a little and lets go, turning to go with Patsy. 

“Jacky,” Polly says as they head out, “can you help me do my hair?” Alexander manages to chuckle at that, despite everything that’s swirling through his brain right now; even facing riding in the car with Patsy again doesn’t seem quite as dangerous as what John is about to do. 

They ride in silence for a few minutes before Patsy speaks up abruptly. “You don’t have to restrain yourselves on our account, you know,” she tells him, her voice almost sharp. 

Alexander blinks. “Okay,” he says slowly, trying to work out what she’s talking about. 

“You and Jack,” she says, voice still a bit sharp; he senses danger here somewhere. “It’s not like we don’t know you’re together. You don’t have to act like a prim and proper courting couple.”

Alexander immediately squashes the first three responses that want to come out of his mouth. It’s no good telling her they’re not a couple, or that he doesn’t give a shit what they think, or that his main concern is not freaking her brother out. They have an image to maintain here, he reminds himself, but he’s also not stupid enough to lie to Patsy outright. 

“It’s really not about you,” he says honestly. “The only thing I’m concerned about is helping him get through all of this, one step at a time. Most of the time, I’m pretty good at knowing what he needs from me.” 

Patsy regards him thoughtfully for the length of a red light, and then zooms forward with no respect for the laws of physics or the motorway. “What’s your take on the Frances situation, then?” she asks, still abrupt, but less danger under her words. 

Alexander shrugs. “I’ll back John up, whatever he wants to do,” he mutters. His own feelings on the matter are less than irrelevant. But Patsy shakes her head. 

“No. I mean, does he really want her?”

“Of course,” Alexander says, mystified. “You saw him yesterday. I’ve never seen him look at anybody like that.”

“But that’s not - it’s not enough,” Patsy says, looking frustrated. “It’s hard to word this right.” She sighs heavily, and deftly slides across at least three lanes of traffic, somehow managing to avoid hitting any other vehicles. “I love that little girl like my own,” she says fiercely, not looking at Alexander. “And I want what’s best for her, and nothing else. If Jack really wants her, and is willing to make whatever sacrifices it takes, then I’m firmly on his side and I’ll do whatever I can to help him. But if he’s not committed - if she’s going to end up pushed aside or neglected or anything like that, then it’s not going to happen. I’ll see to it.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Alexander says. “Give him a few days before you go making any declarations of war, would you? John’s literally just processing the idea that this could even happen. I don’t think anyone’s in a position to make a final judgment yet.” He winces at himself even as he says it. He doesn’t exactly sound convincing, even to himself, and he certainly hasn’t made Patsy any more certain that John has the situation under control. It’s just - it’s a lot, he tells himself, and none of them really know what they’re doing yet. 

“And what about you?” Patsy asks. “It’s not like it wouldn’t affect you, to bring a little girl home with you two. Are you willing to make that kind of sacrifice?”

“For Frances?” Alexander says rhetorically. “Honestly, no. I don’t know her. She’s not my business - not right now, anyway. Not yet. But for John?” He shrugs. This much is easy. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make him happy. If that means bringing his daughter home and helping him raise her, then absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

And he means it, he does - he just can’t let himself think too much yet about what that really means, or how far he’s willing to go. There’s so very much he’s not willing to sacrifice for anyone, not for any reason. 

Patsy is silent for a few moments, thinking. 

“You really love him, don’t you?” she finally asks. 

There’s no-one else there to hear, nothing to lose by admitting the truth, and Alexander nods.

“Yes,” he says quietly. That’s all there is to it. 

“Be careful.” It’s not what he was expecting her to say, and Alexander looks at her, startled. “Jack won’t know what to do with that. Not really.”

“We mostly make things work,” he protests. Patsy looks at him, raising a far-too-knowing eyebrow, and Alexander flails his hands toward the road. “Pay attention before you get us killed!”

“I mean it,” she says, looking back at the road. “Jack’s had too many people take advantage of his good nature. I don’t think you’re that sort, but good intentions aren’t always enough.” It’s similar to what she said about Frances, but there’s a different tenor to this warning. Alexander does not want to be on the wrong side of Patsy Laurens. 

She screeches to a sudden stop outside a house in an upscale neighborhood, a For Sale sign prominently displayed in the yard. There are already quite a few cars in the driveway and parked along the side of the road - it’s a funeral, Alexander remembers again with a sinking sensation. He’s got so much else on his plate right now that the funereal aspect of the trip keeps slipping out of his mind. Does that make him a sociopath?

“OK,” Patsy says, putting the car in park. ‘You wanted to do this. Let’s go get the baby and see how you and Jack manage.” 

Alexander thinks he’s mostly managing to hide his existential terror at the notion as he gets out and heads to the front door with Patsy. John may be worried about proving himself to his father, but Alexander’s clearly on trial before a much more exacting judge, and he’s not at all sure he can prove himself to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grow up, they said. Turn into an adult, they said. It's all lies and trickery, friends, so don't do it! You'll never have a fun relaxing weekend ever again. Unless I'm doing it wrong. I continue to be sorry for delays.
> 
> Anyway. Love and love and all the love to you guys. Hope you're still enjoying this story, as these boys dig themselves deeper and deeper into Trouble. All the best - Kivrin.


	9. nine

The Mannings house feels more like a funeral parlor than the actual funeral parlor had, somehow. It’s formal and stiff, and doesn’t feel like it belongs to anyone. 

Of course, Alexander is well aware that most of that could be projection on his part. He’s decided long since that he doesn’t have any use for the Mannings, and he’s certainly not going to appreciate their stuffy decor after the way he saw them treat John. If he were just a little bit less mature, he’d purposefully track something in on their carpets. Unfortunately, he isn’t. 

“Oh, hello, dear,” Mrs. Manning says, giving Patsy a stiff little hug. Alexander does force himself to have a little more sympathy, reminding himself that her daughter is being buried today. “You said you were coming to get Frances, but we didn’t know when. I’m afraid she’s not been fed and dressed yet.”

“We’ll take care of that at home,” Patsy says, smiling, but with just enough anger burning in her eyes that Alexander takes a careful step back. “You needn’t worry, Mrs. Manning. No-one expected that you would be able to see to all of Cessie’s needs, especially today.” Her voice is so perfectly sweet and sympathetic that Alexander has to run the words through his head again to see if they were really as brutal as he thinks. Holy shit. Patsy isn’t messing around. “We’ll just get her out of your hair right away.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that silly name, dear,” Mrs. Manning reproves, looking annoyed. “It’s not very respectful of our dear Martha, is it? She named her daughter Frances, after all, not ‘Cessie’.” She looks as if the name tastes sour in her mouth. 

“Oh, you know how we Laurens’ are,” Patsy says cheerfully. “Nicknames for everyone we love, and the more ridiculous, the better! Meaning no disrespect to Martha, of course.” 

Interesting, Alexander thinks. That was an incredibly clear implication that Martha was not someone they loved. 

Mrs. Manning doesn’t seem to register the insult, but turns to look at Alexander doubtfully. “I believe we saw you at the visitation, young man?”

“Yes,” he says, honestly doing his best to be pleasant. He knows what these days are like. “I’m Alexander Hamilton. I, uh. I came with John.” 

“Oh.” A look of distaste spreads across her face. “That’s right, you were with him. You’re not the - ugh. The boyfriend, are you?” She manages to say the word with even more disgust than Alexander usually feels at it. That’s pretty impressive. 

“That’s right,” Patsy says, smiling brilliantly and patting Alexander’s shoulder. “That’s our Dodo. We all just love him - not as much as John does, naturally, but he’s really become part of the family.” 

Alexander is torn between two competing and equally violent emotions. On the one hand, he really wants to strangle Patsy right now for putting him in such an embarrassing position; he thinks he’s lost at least an inch from his height with how hard he’s cringing right now. On the other hand, he’s suddenly flooded with absolute affection for John’s sister. It would be so nice if it were really true, that they liked him that much. 

Not that it matters, of course. He’s not likely to ever meet any of them again once this whole charade is over. 

“You’re the reason that Laurens boy wouldn’t do the proper thing and propose to our Martha?” Mrs. Manning sounds doubtful, and is looking him over with a critical eye. Alexander really doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know enough about Martha to even begin to answer the question - and honestly, he doesn’t feel very much like being civil right now. 

“You know,” Patsy says thoughtfully, “I think there may have been more than one reason for that decision, Mrs. Manning.” She tugs Alexander along as she starts down the hallway. “Anyway, you mustn’t let us keep you. I’m sure you have so much to do this morning. We’ll get Cessie and her things and be on our way.”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea for her to come along to the service?” Mrs. Manning asks, following them as Patsy marches forward. “The last thing we need is a child crying, you know. She could stay here with her great-aunt instead.”

“Her mother is being buried today,” Alexander says, startling himself by speaking, even though his voice is low and constrained. “She deserves to be there, and she deserves to be allowed to cry. I know I did at my mother’s funeral, and I was somewhat older than Cessie.” He hadn’t been incredibly taken with the nickname for the little girl at first, but now he’s going to use it forever, just because it annoys her grandmother into making that particular sour-lemon face. “Of course, I understand the difficulties of having such an occasion marred by grief, but I think you’ll find most of the attendees are willing to overlook the breach of manners for a toddler.” 

He may not have Patsy’s personal knowledge of the situation, but Alexander is an academic by training. He knows how to be coldly, professionally, and politely unpleasant, and doesn’t mind using that skill when needed. 

“Well,” Mrs. Manning says, and that’s the extent of her rejoinder. Alexander awards himself a point. Patsy pushes open a door and is immediately greeted by a shriek of excitement from little Frances, who is standing in her crib, holding onto the top rail, and bouncing up and down. 

“Passy!” Cessie squeals around the pacifier in her mouth. “Passy Passy!” She jumps up and down, and Alexander wonders how long she’s been awake in here by herself, waiting in her crib for someone to come for her. Patsy wastes no time scooping her up and kissing her cheeks, popping out the pacifier with a look of distaste. 

“Ready to go, Cessie?” Patsy asks, and Cessie claps her little hands, grinning. “We’re going to go see Daddy now!”

“Now?” Cessie repeats, and grins even wider. “Go byebye!”

“That’s right.” Patsy points at Alexander. “Do you remember Alexander, baby?”

“Dodo.” She stares at him with wide green eyes, looking a little uncertain, but not displeased to see him. 

“That’s right. Dodo.” Patsy smoothly hands the baby to Alexander, who does his very best not to drop her in surprise, and he has to struggle for a minute to find a comfortable way to hold her. She’s not that heavy, but he doesn’t have much experience holding entire small people in his arms, especially not without warning. Patsy bustles around the room, packing up a few things in a bag. “We can come back for anything else another time, of course,” she tells Mrs. Manning. “We need to get her home so John can get her ready in time for the service.”

Mrs. Manning wilts a little at that - as if she’d somehow managed to put out of her mind what they were really all there for, and Alexander feels another sudden wave of pity for the unpleasant woman. No-one is at their best on the day they’re burying their child. “Very well. I’ll see you later, then, Frances.” She comes close enough to Alexander to take Cessie’s hand for a minute, then lets go and wanders away without another word. 

Grief is brutal, Alexander knows. He reminds himself again not to judge, and focuses on the little girl in his arms instead. “I bet you can say Alexander,” he says, feeling like he’s fighting a losing battle. “It’s not so hard! Try it! Alexander.” He says his name slowly and carefully, and Cessie nods.

“Dodo,” she says certainly, and pats his nose again. 

“You are not going to win that one,” Patsy tells him. “Here, trade me.” She hands him a loaded-down backpack and a bag of clothing. “I’ll change her before we go. I’ll bet nobody bothered to even check on her this morning.” She carries Cessie over to a changing table, and Alexander busies himself looking at the contents of the bag. If he had been warned that this trip might involve diaper changes, he might have let John find himself a rent-a-boyfriend online after all. 

(That’s very much not true, but he thinks it at himself, as if he’s trying to convince someone.)

Patsy carries Cessie as they make their way out, and no-one stops them. She gives him a quick lesson in carseat management and safety, and tells him that now he’ll know for the next time. He tries not to blanch at the thought of a tiny person’s safety being dependent on him. Amazingly enough, Patsy drives far more carefully with her niece aboard, which only confirms Alexander’s theory that she’s doing it all on purpose. Cessie starts up a tuneless, wordless little song as soon as they start driving, and seems content to sing all the way home. 

“Not that it’s my business,” Alexander says along the way. “But are they always that hands-off with her?”

“Yes,” Patsy says sharply. “Martha was better with her, most of the time, unless she’d been using. The Mannings aren’t cut out to care for her properly. Jack did more with her in half an hour yesterday than they have in months.”

“Poor kid,” Alexander mutters. He’s more sympathetic to Frances, now, especially since they’ve established that John isn’t leaving New York to stay with her. Alexander knows what it’s like to lose a mother, and he knows far more than he’d like about being unwanted. He’s still in this for John’s sake, not the baby’s, but he decides that he’ll do what he can to make sure she winds up in the best possible situation. Not that he’s going to have any say in it, of course, but if one less kid in the world winds up messed up because of a lack of caring relatives, he’ll count it as a win. 

“So tell me,” he says after a minute. “Was I only imagining the open hatred towards myself and John, or was that genuine?”

“Pretty genuine,” Patsy admits. “The Mannings wouldn’t have had much use for Jack anyway, since he wasn’t about to marry Martha. Knowing that it’s because he preferred the company of men-” she puts on a reasonable facsimile of Mrs. Mannings accent and attitude for a moment, looking as stuffy as the older woman had - “never endeared him to them. You were always going to be horrible in their eyes.”

“I don’t care.” Alexander says bluntly. “I’m happy to be a bigger target and deflect criticisms from John, if I can. I imagine most of her relatives aren’t going to be particularly fond of us, either?”

“Not so much,” Patsy agrees. “They have to be decent to our father, since he’s a very important business partner of Mr. Manning, but Jack didn’t make many friends, leaving the way he did. I doubt he’ll be paying much attention to the looks people give him, though. There’s kind of a lot going on today.”

“Fair enough,” Alexander says, nodding. He hesitates for a moment, and then decides to ask. “How are you doing with everything?”

“Fine,” Patsy says, shooting him a little grin, and Alexander points at her with both hands. 

“Hah! I know your brother too well to be fooled by that expression and tone of voice, Ms. Laurens!” He sobers quickly. “It just seems like you’re carrying a lot of this yourself, and looking after a good number of other people at the same time.”

Patsy shrugs, and keeps her eyes on the road. “Martha and I were friends, but not incredibly close, and I have some real issues with the choices she made lately. Not that she deserved to die, of course-” her voice falters for a moment, and then she goes on. “But I think you know as much as I do about looking after others in the middle of such things. We’ll get through it, and then we can sort everything out later.”

Alexander nods silently. He’s got no room to judge anyone else on their coping mechanisms. 

They’re back at the Laurens’ house before Cessie gets tired of her song, and Polly dashes out the door as soon as Patsy has parked. She swarms into the van, unbuckling Cessie and coaxing her out of the car with every sign of delight. Alexander notes with surprise that her hair is now neat and tidy, brushed and braided in two passable braids. John has more secrets than Alexander had known. She lugs Cessie back to the house like a particularly wiggly bag of potatoes, and Alexander has to shake his head at the ease and comfort in comparison with his own awkward fumbling earlier. 

John’s accomplished a lot while they were gone, Alexander notes as they go inside. Polly and Harry are both immaculately groomed and dressed, and John himself looks ready to go, if verging on the brink of a nervous breakdown. He’s jittery and unusually pale when they come in, and he gives Alexander a look of such profound relief that he’s a little stunned. All he’s done is walked in the door, but John looks like he just saved his life. 

Polly immediately starts pestering John, not putting the baby down. “Jacky, Cessie’s still in her pajamas! We need to get her ready, too!”

“You’ll need to feed her, first,” Patsy says, rolling her eyes. “Grammy and Gramps hadn’t managed that, of course.”

“I can!” Polly says excitedly, but John interrupts, putting out a hand to stop her.

“Maybe you could help me?” He looks at her seriously, treating her like more of a colleague than a little girl in that moment. “I don’t know exactly what she likes, but I’d like to start learning.” 

“Okay,” Polly agrees cheerfully. “I’ll show you what to do!” 

Alexander excuses himself to go and get ready, and by the time he’s properly attired for a funeral, it seems that breakfast is over, and John has moved on to the challenges of washing a wiggly little face and sticky hands, and then dressing a baby who never stops moving. Frances seems to be in a fine mood today. She doesn’t know what’s about to happen, and won’t understand any of it, of course, but Alexander still thinks she ought to be there. She burbles happily and tries to squirm away at every turn, chattering at John in mostly nonsense syllables, and looking thoroughly unimpressed with the little dress he’s trying to put on her. 

“She’s wigglier than you were at this age!” John tells Polly with something like admiration, managing to catch Cessie and hold her gently across his lap as he buttons up the back of the little dress. Trying to neaten her hair is what almost does him in. Alexander laughs himself silly as John chases her around the room; Cessie moves from one object to another, patting them and talking to them, sounding for all the world like she’s giving John a tour of her world. What she doesn’t do, even for a minute, is stand still. 

“Keep laughing, Hamilton,” John whispers in a murderous undertone as he goes past, but Alexander can see the laughter in his eyes, too. He eventually takes pity on his supposed boyfriend and goes over to help. It turns out that Cessie can be distracted enough by seeing her own face in the selfie-camera of his phone that she’ll actually sit still, and John manages to put the front of her hair into a pair of pigtails that stick straight up like a pair of tiny, curly lollipops. The rest of her hair is a riot of curls, but they’re combed and clean, and John looks satisfied. 

Cessie has taken to him so easily that it’s almost odd. She’s just accepted his presence, as though he’s always been there; Alexander can sense a distance and a reserve there, and sees the difference between how she lights up at the sight of Patsy and the others she knows better and her father, who is still a stranger to her, but she doesn’t mind at all when he picks her up or talks to her. 

Patsy, Alexander notices, is very carefully leaving all of the baby-wrangling to John, even when he can tell that she’s itching to just take over and do things herself. Of course she’d be able to manage everything in half the time, but it looks like she’s genuinely doing her best to let John figure things out with his daughter. Alexander admires that kind of restraint. He doesn’t often have much of that, himself. She does help John to pack a bag that includes items to try to keep Cessie happy and entertained for the duration of what’s to come, and he’s wildly grateful. He doesn’t say so, of course; he doesn’t have to. Alexander can see how well they communicate without any words, and reminds himself that he has no right to be jealous of that, either. 

Patsy inspects them all before they leave, like a military review, and hands around packages of tissues and straightens Harry’s jacket. He rolls his eyes at her, so clearly the put-upon younger brother that Alexander has to snicker silently. “I’m not likely to need these,” he argues about the tissues. “I don’t exactly have a lot of grief to process today.”

“Then save them and offer them to someone who does,” Patsy says, rolling her eyes at him. “And you never know, anyway. Sometimes things hit you differently at a funeral.”

“You missed dad’s lecture about decorous behavior before he left this morning,” John says, standing very very still as Cessie does her best to use him as a jungle gym. “Not drawing attention to ourselves and all of that.”

“Same as last time?” Patsy asks, and all three of her siblings give an unhappy-sounding noise of agreement. 

“Except this time the main theme is ‘don’t co-opt their grief, don’t remind them of our presence,’ instead of our need to be upstanding examples of fortitude in the face of suffering,” Harry says, and Alexander can practically hear his eyes rolling from across the room. 

“Just behave, Harry,” Patsy says warningly. “Don’t cause any trouble and it’ll be over faster.”

“Won’t matter what we do,” Harry mutters rebelliously. “He’s burying his favorite child today, after all, so the rest of us can go hang.”

Alexander is missing too much of the context to fully understand these interactions, but the sour notes between the Laurens’ family members are as audible as their unwillingness to actually discuss any of their issues. It’s not his place to judge, he reminds himself again, and follows the parade of Laurens’ to the van with the now-familiar anxiety over Patsy’s driving rising again. She’s on her best behavior on the drive to the church, though, and Alexander is able to direct most of his attention towards John. He’s quiet and nervy, but also obviously distracted by Cessie, which is probably a blessing. She keeps him busy the entire car ride, handing him one thing after another with a solemnity not usually displayed towards sippy-cups, toys, or stray Cheerios. John takes them all with equal reverence, as though she’s offering him precious gifts. 

“Oh, wow,” John says, distracted at last from the gift-giving ceremony as they pull into the parking lot of a little white church. “I haven’t been back here since they told me I was headed straight for Hell! The Mannings still attend here?”

“Religiously,” Harry says snarkily, and cracks up at his own pun. 

“Don’t either of you dare start a fight here today,” Patsy warns her brothers. “And if someone else tries to start one, please do your best not to engage. Last thing we need is more drama right now.”

They pile out of the van and stand around, waiting for John to work out how to get Cessie out of her complicated car seat, and then wander in together. Alexander places himself very clearly at John’s elbow, and doesn’t allow himself to be moved. 

The funeral service is - well, Alexander thinks glumly, pretty typical. He’s been to enough of them. There are hymns, sung with more enthusiasm than skill by the mostly-aged congregation, and tearful speeches from family members, and a funeral sermon that goes on far too long. The most interesting thing is how very carefully everyone avoids the topic of Martha’s real cause of death, or the fact that she was a mother and leaves behind a child. It’s a very selective story of her life that’s presented. Again, Alexander thinks. Typical. 

Cessie is the absolute best thing about the whole ordeal, because she is utterly uninterested in sitting still and quiet on John’s lap, no matter how he tries, and Patsy is so thoroughly hands-off, letting John try to work things out on his own. Frances sits still for the first few minutes, and croons her own nonsense songs during the hymns, but then she’s done, and John and Alexander are off to the races, trying to keep her amused and quiet. It’s a good thing they’ve taken a pew at the very back of the little church; as it is, too many old women turn around to glare at them when Cessie laughs too loudly, or talks in her clear, sweet little voice that carries far more widely than it has any right to. 

They play peek-a-boo, and hide things up their sleeves for Cessie to find, and distract her with snacks, and Alexander makes tiny faces on his fingertips with a pen and makes them dance in front of her face. She squeals with delight, which wins them a few more glares. Eventually she makes up a game of her own, which involves flinging herself from John’s arms to Alexander’s and then back again, over and over, while they struggle not to drop her or break out in laughter themselves. 

It’s entirely the most fun he’s ever had at a funeral, and Alexander wastes a bit of time feeling guilty for that. Then he decides, screw it. They’re keeping Martha’s daughter happy, and they’re not doing anyone any harm. It’s nice, that’s what it is. It’s natural and easy, and he and John have fallen into an unspoken rhythm and partnership, taking turns with Cessie and spelling one another without needing to exchange a word. He does note, with interest, that John doesn’t seem incredibly affected by the funeral or what anyone is saying. He wouldn’t have guessed there had ever been anything between John and Martha, if he wasn’t watching the proof of it.

They’re definitely having too much fun, he decides, when neither of them have noticed for a minute or two that the service is over and people are filing out. Polly has to tap them on the shoulders and hiss at them to get them moving. 

Patsy drives as soberly as a judge in the funeral procession, which isn’t long. They head to a graveyard not far from the church, where there’s barely enough room in the little parking lot for the cars that turn up. 

“Oh,” Polly says blankly when they pull in. “Here?”

“Guess so,” Patsy says tightly. Her face doesn’t give anything away, but something’s going on, Alexander can tell. They’re silent as they follow the little crowd of mourners to the burial plot, and Cessie isn’t amused anymore. She whines a little, clearly wanting to get down and run, but John keeps a gentle hold on her. 

Thankfully, the graveside service is short. They’ve done most of the required things at church, it seems, and everything is quiet by the hole in the ground. This is always the part that feels real, to Alexander, and he finds himself moving even closer to John. It’s not exactly a surprise when John’s hand finds his, but it’s welcome. Too many memories from similar scenes want to make themselves felt, and Alexander suspects John’s going through the same sort of thing himself. Cessie seems to read the atmosphere and puts her head down on John’s shoulder, thumb finding its way to her mouth, as a wreath is laid and final prayers said. Here in the graveyard, he can see the Mannings and Henry Laurens, who seem to almost be sharing the front-line duties. None of them do anything as undignified as weep, though he sees the discrete wiping of eyes every now and then. 

And then it’s over. The crowd begins to trickle away in ones and twos, and John lets out a huge , deep breath, and gently lowers Cessie onto the soft grass, keeping hold of her hand. She toddles forward a bit, tugging him along, and John has forgotten to let go of Alexander’s hand, so he wanders along with them. Cessie is entirely uninterested in the casket or the grave, obviously having no clue what any of this is about, and leads them toward a patch of dandelions growing a few feet away. 

“Made it through,” Alexander offers neutrally, hoping he’s not making things worse somehow. John nods. 

“They could have been talking about a complete stranger,” John tells him, sounding blank. “I’d never have guessed it was Martha, from the speeches people gave. I don’t know if they didn’t know her at all, or if I’m the one who didn’t have a clue.”

“Yeah,” Alexander mutters heavily. His mother’s funeral had been much the same. “Sometimes I think we forget them as soon as they’re gone - the way they really were, I mean. We just remember what we want to.”

John nods. “Flower, Cessie, see? Flower!” He points to the bright dandelions, which Cessie is patting gently, watching them sway back and forth. 

“Fwuh-yah!” Cessie repeats certainly. 

“Close enough,” John says, smiling at her with such doting affection that Alexander’s heart clenches. 

Patsy calls to them, and waves them over when they look her way. John coaxes Frances along, and she’s happy to go anywhere as long as her feet are on the ground for now. Patsy is walking away when they get there, though, following Polly and Harry who are already several lengths ahead. Alexander watches them walk through the graveyard with confidence, and recognizes it. They’ve got someone else to visit. 

John doesn’t talk as they go. He doesn’t let go of Alexander’s hand, or Frances’. 

They stop before a particular stone under a little tree, and Polly flops down easily onto the grass, clearly talking to the air. It’s not until they’re very close that Alexander can read the name on the stone. 

Eleanor Laurens.

Oh, Alexander thinks. He does a little math, and sees that she had died almost six years earlier. 

“Polly doesn’t really remember her,” John says quietly. “She always has liked to come and sit here and tell mom about everything that’s happening in her life.”

A few paces away, Harry is glaring sullenly at the ground, and Patsy squeezes his arm silently. 

“My mom is buried back home on the island,” Alexander says suddenly, keeping his own voice very low. It seems wrong to stand here, witnessing their shared grief, without acknowledging that he understands it, at least a little. “I haven’t been back in years.”

John nods, and follows along as Cessie pulls him toward what is apparently a very enticing stone on the ground. “I wish my mom could have met her,” he says, nodding towards the baby. “I mean, I hate to think what she’d think of me, but I know she would have loved her.” 

“What’s not to love?” Alexander asks rhetorically, as John stoops down to stop her from putting a bug in her mouth. 

“Jack,” Patsy calls, and John doesn’t turn around. “Come on.”

“You go,” John says, not moving. “I’m gonna stay here with Frances for a bit longer.”

Patsy shakes her head and comes over, sympathetic and determined at the same time. “Jacky,” she says quietly. “Come on. You know you’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

“I don’t think I can,” John says, and looks to Patsy as if she’s the older sibling.

“Of course you can,” she says quietly. “Come on.” She takes Cessie’s other hand and starts walking, and John and Alexander wind up following behind like a trail of balloons caught in the wind. They don’t have far to go. There’s another gravestone only a few feet away from Eleanor’s, but this one is newer. And smaller. 

“Hi, Jemmy,” Patsy says quietly, but her chin trembles. 

James Laurens, this one says, and the birth and death dates are barely ten years apart. Shit, Alexander thinks, and calculates again. James Laurens had died a little more than two years ago. 

Polly is sitting in the grass again next to this headstone, chattering away as usual, but there’s no smile on her face now. Harry has his back turned; he’s using the tissues. Alexander keeps his mouth shut, but John turns towards him, though his eyes don’t leave the gravestone. 

“Our brother Jemmy,” he says, through a voice that’s very thick. “He, um. He died a few years ago.”

Patsy is tidying up around the grave, pulling a stray weed or two that have gotten too long, as though she’s tending to the little brother there rather than to a stone. 

Alexander breathes deeply. “What happened?” he whispers. He hadn’t known this, which is insane, because he and John had already been friends two years ago. How had he not known that his little brother had died? They’d never really discussed their families, as much because Alexander keeps his own mouth buttoned shut about his past as anything else, but it seems like he should have known that John’s brother had died in their senior year of college. What the hell had he been doing, to have missed that?

“I fucked up,” John murmurs. Alexander automatically glances at Cessie, but she’s blissfully unaware of any of what’s happening over her head, crouching down and poking one little finger at ants that are wandering along their own ways. “I should have been watching. I was home on break, and got distracted. He fell.”

The oak tree in the backyard, Alexander thinks, watching John’s face. 

“He, um,” John says, looking utterly lost. “Hit his head. They thought at first he might make it, but. But he didn’t.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Alexander whispers. He has no business being here, he thinks, looking between the Laurens siblings, each of them lost in their own bubble of misery. 

“Not your fault,” John says automatically. “If I hadn’t-” He stops, and looks down at Cessie. “Oh,” John says quietly. 

“Hey, no, wait-” Alexander says. John lets go of both of their hands and steps back a pace, looking at Cessie as if she’s about to turn to smoke and vanish.

“DaDee?” Cessie says, abandoning her ants and looking at John, as bewildered as Alexander feels.

“I can’t,” John says quietly. “I already - with Jemmy, and I can’t. I can’t do that again. I can’t keep her safe.”

Alexander is familiar with self-destructive behaviors, and he knows what he’s seeing at once. He shakes his head, reaching one hand out to John, trying to coax him back from the edge of the proverbial cliff. “John, don’t,” he murmurs. He can’t yell right now, can’t risk startling him further or calling too much attention to what’s happening. 

“No, my father was right,” John says, stepping back again. “I’ve got no business trying to take care of a child. Look how it turned out last time.”

“Don’t do this,” Alexander says, his voice a hiss. “Don’t walk away from her. You’ll never forgive yourself.”

“I’d forgive myself a hell of a lot quicker than I ever will for Jemmy,” John says bleakly. He doesn’t look at Frances. “I - I need to go. Think. I need to think.” He looks at Alexander, who can see how desperately John is clinging to the edges of self-control, trying to keep from flying apart. “Can you take care of her for a bit?” 

Alexander nods, unable to think of anything else to say. John strides away fast enough that he’s almost running, one hand coming up to tangle itself in his hair, and he’s gone in an instant.

Frances looks after him, her face wrinkled up in confusion. “Yeah, me too, kid,” Alexander mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. So. Issues. John has them.
> 
> I wanted to update yesterday, but then you only would have gotten a third of this chapter, so I'm going to say I probably made the right call. I think this works better. This not updating daily thing is weird and I hate it, so hopefully it will get better at some point! So, so much love to you all. I have a feeling this probably isn't the story you expected to read, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway. 
> 
> (Trust me, the next one is gonna be so much worse.)
> 
> <3 Take care out there, kids. The world is awful right now, but it's going to get better. <3


	10. ten

Later, Alexander will pinpoint this moment as the turning point in his and Frances’ relationship. Watching John take off as if the dogs of hell are behind him, leaving both of them staring after him in confusion, he suddenly feels a bit more kinship with the little girl. She waits a minute to see if John will reappear, and then toddles over and attaches herself to Alexander’s pants leg, as though making certain he’s not about to take off, too. 

“Not going anywhere,” Alexander promises quietly, still looking after John, who is no longer visible. 

“I up?” Cessie asks, lifting her hands up towards him, and Alexander makes himself smile at her, trying his best to be reassuring. It’s bad enough that her mother just vanished from her life. Now, the father she’s barely met has also taken off running, although Alexander is going to do his absolute damn best to make sure that doesn’t remain the case. 

“How about I down?” Alexander replies, and sits down in the grass beside her, putting his head at a height closer to her own. Cessie stares at him for a long minute, and he pats the grass encouragingly. “Sit with me, huh? We’ll wait for your daddy.”

Cessie regards him for a moment longer, blinking thoughtfully, and then sits down precisely in the middle of his lap, popping her thumb in her mouth, as though she is ready to wait for the long term. Alexander blinks a little in surprise, and then has to accept that this is his life, now. He is now the chair for a little princess who doesn’t want to sit in the grass. She leans back against his chest with every sign of contentment. Alexander thinks about texting someone for help - but who? 

“Jack?” Patsy says, wandering back over, and looking suspiciously at Alexander, as though he might be hiding her brother somewhere. “Where’s he gone?”

“Just on a contemplative little stroll,” Alexander lies, glad that apparently she hadn’t seen John high-tailing it. Patsy gives a little groan of frustration and sits down on the grass, not too far from Alexander. 

“I thought it might do some good, to get him to come here,” she admits quietly. “Guess I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

“He hasn’t been back to visit?” Alexander asks, and then could about smack himself for his own stupidity. John hasn’t been back to South Carolina at all in almost two years; he certainly hasn’t been jaunting down for a quick visit to a graveyard and then slipping back home before they’ve noticed he was gone. But Patsy just shakes her head. 

“Not since the funeral,” she murmurs. “Not that the rest of us have come that often.”

“It’s not like it accomplishes anything,” Alexander says dully. He hasn’t been to any of the graves that might have mattered to him in far too long, and he’s mostly been successful in not letting himself think about it for a long time. He lowers his chin just a little, letting it rest gently on the feather-soft curls that are resting against his chest. “Not like anything changes, whether you visit or not.” 

“No,” Patsy agrees. “But I thought maybe if Jack could at least face it, maybe he could talk to someone, or work through it somehow.” She looks steadily at Alexander, who won’t do more than glance at her from the corner of his eye. He’s not moving too much and risking disturbing Cessie, who may in fact be asleep again. “Has he talked to you much about Jemmy?”

Alexander freezes. This is absolutely a trap, and he can’t see any good way through it. If he says John has talked to him, then he’s certain to wind up caught in a web of deceit. If children’s television ever taught him anything, it’s that, for certain. On the other hand, admitting John hadn’t even told him he’d had a brother who died doesn’t really seem like the devoted boyfriend (ugh) thing to do. 

“John is really private about some things,” he hedges, crossing his fingers mentally. “He never really said much beyond the bare details.” 

“Let me guess,” Patsy says, sounding bitter. “You got the story about how it was all Jack’s fault that Jemmy died?”

“Something like that,” Alexander agrees cautiously. “He really does blame himself, I can tell. Is it justified?” He doesn’t want to ask these questions, to admit that he has any sort of doubt, but Cessie is a warm, heavy weight in his lap, and he needs to know what they’re dealing with here, for her sake.

“No,” Patsy says bluntly. “That’s our dad’s interpretation, meant to relieve himself of responsibility by putting the blame on Jack. It was dad’s job to be watching his children, not Jack’s or mine.” The amount of vitriol in her voice makes Alexander wonder whether she’s faced her share of unfair blame as well. “He wasn’t even doing anything important - just reading in his study. He knew Jemmy’s propensity to climb too high as well as any of us.”

“So what makes John think it’s his fault?” Alexander asks quietly. 

“He was in the kitchen, and had a better view of the tree,” Patsy says, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s it. But Jack was dealing with some issues of his own just then, and had his back turned. Nobody saw anything until the branch broke, and then it didn’t matter how fast we ran.” She pulls out a tissue and wipes unceremoniously at her eyes. “Dad couldn’t face losing Jemmy, too, after mom, and it was easier to blame Jack. But Jack takes things to heart, especially things dad says.”

Alexander thinks frantically, trying to place when exactly all of this had happened. Jemmy’s tombstone gave a death date of January 4th, which probably had lined up with the tail-end of winter break between semesters of their senior year of college. He doesn’t remember much from that final semester other than papers and grad school applications and endless hours in the library, but it seems like John had been gone a lot. They hadn’t been living in the same house then, and he was far closer to Laf and Herc than John at that point, but he’d noticed the lack of his presence several times, which was really saying something. Senior-year-Alexander had pretty much struggled to notice anything short of actually being set on fire. 

“You wouldn’t have known, at the time,” Alexander confides, trying to keep from sharing too many details. “I mean, he kept everything so close to his chest that most people didn’t have a clue.” Including me, he thinks, and it’s startling how much that idea hurts. John should have been able to tell them, to tell him; he should have had a clue that his friend’s world had fallen apart so horribly over the span of winter break. He hopes he hadn’t been a complete jackass to John at the time. 

But they hadn’t had that kind of relationship then. In fact, Alexander realizes, with an even deeper pang, he’s not sure they have that kind of relationship now. John hadn’t said a word to him about Jemmy until they were literally looking at his grave. He’s carried that loss for a long time, and who knows if he ever would have mentioned it - or any of this - without life forcing his hand. Frances and Martha Manning and Jemmy and all the wreckage of the Laurens family that none of them will put into words - he would still be ignorant to all of it, if he hadn’t forced John to bring him along on this trip. That’s a really, really shitty feeling. He wonders darkly if there’s anyone John has confided in, or if he just keeps all of this to himself, locking it away the way he’s hidden Frances’ nursery. 

“Not a surprise,” Patsy says, sounding disappointed nonetheless. “It was the same story when we lost mom, and when Jack was - well, with some other things he went through.” She clearly stopped herself from saying more, and Alexander hates himself for how curious he suddenly is. “I’m glad he’s got you to confide in now, though. That’s so much better for him.”

Yeah, they’re doing awesome, Alexander thinks, trying not to roll his eyes. He takes a breath, weighing his options, and decides to take a risk. “John doesn’t think he can take care of Frances,” he says bluntly. “Because of what happened with Jemmy.”

“That’s why he’s run off, huh?” Patsy asks, not sounding terribly surprised. “Well, you know how he gets - the whole fight or flight thing, when emotions get too high. We’ll sort him out when he comes back.”

“But should we?” Alexander objects. “Shouldn’t it be his decision?”

“It will be,” Patsy says, her voice leaving absolutely no doubt. “He’ll make his choice, and everyone will abide by it. I’ll see to that. But I’m not letting him run away from it; I don’t want him abandoning the chance to have her in his life because our father has screwed with his head.” She stands up and walks a few paces, turning back to look at Alexander and Frances, and snaps a quick picture of them with her phone. “I’m texting him. If this doesn’t bring him back, we’re leaving him and he can walk home. It’s time for lunch.”  
“Would you mind,” Alexander says, feeling absurd. “Uhh, texting me that picture?” He’s not really sure what he wants with it, but it feels important. His phone buzzes a moment later, and he looks at the picture. 

You wouldn’t know, from looking at it, that his feet are going numb under him, or that he hasn’t moved more than an inch in any direction in way too long. They look comfortable together. Frances is definitely asleep, curled up against him, and Alexander had been caught in a moment of glancing down at her, his chin still resting on her brown curls. It’s disturbingly domestic. He saves it to his phone, and doesn’t think too much about why. 

John does come back, and in quick enough time that Patsy doesn’t threaten to leave him behind again. He looks thoroughly shaken, as though the ground beneath his feet has become untrustworthy, and he doesn’t say anything when he turns up. He stays far away from Jemmy’s grave. 

Polly and Harry start back down towards the van, Polly clinging to her brother’s hand, and Harry doesn’t shake her off. Patsy gives both John and Alexander a significant look before starting to follow them. John stares at his feet, and doesn’t move. 

“John,” Alexander hisses after a minute. “Come and remove your child, please.”

John shakes his head, looking terrified. “I can’t. I told you. I’m not fit to-”

“I don’t actually give a fuck about any of that right now,” Alexander says, trying not to sound impatient. “My feet have both gone to sleep, and if you don’t come and get this adorable little bag of cement off my lap so I can try to restore my circulation, I’m going to wake her up myself and leave you to deal with the fallout.” Sometimes, he reasons, one must be cruel to be kind. 

John moves at that, finally, darting over and picking Frances up with all the delicacy of a bomb-removal squad handling a live munition. He cradles her in his arms, looking down at her in the same stunned wonder he had displayed the first time he had seen her. Alexander, getting to his feet and starting to stamp the painful cramps out of his feet and legs, wonders tiredly if that look of awe is ever going to get old. It’s not fair, that much is certain. 

“How can I-” John starts, and breaks off again, staring down into the peaceful little face. “I can’t, Alexander. You know I can’t.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” he replies sharply. His feet really hurt right now, and John looks like he’s about to cry, and Alexander absolutely could not handle that at the moment. “My mother was a single parent. She worked herself to the bone, trying to provide for me. It caught up with her in the end.” He clears his throat, which suddenly feels pretty much the same as his feet, with flashes of sudden pain making themselves felt. “But she had no support system, no help, no healthcare. You’ll have all of that, if you want it.” He starts hobbling down the hill, following John’s siblings. “Come on, Laurens. If we don’t hurry up, Patsy is going to leave us all to walk back, and you don’t want to see me try to do that in these shoes.” 

John gives a little huff of a laugh and starts to follow him, and Alexander exhales in relief. It’s a step in the right direction. Fight or flight, Patsy had said. It’s the sort of thing it feels like he should already know about John, and the fact that he doesn’t is a problem. What else does he not know, and how is it going to come back to bite him? 

The whole group are subdued on the ride back, and Alexander thinks he may be the only one who doesn’t have red eyes and a puffy face. (Turns out the Laurens family are ugly cryers, all of them. Oh well. No family can be perfect.) 

“The Mannings are having a reception at their place this afternoon,” Patsy offers, and everyone groans. 

“I think we’d be better off avoiding it, if we can do so without causing offense,” John says. “It’s not like they love any of us, and no-one from their side seemed particularly keen on acknowledging Cessie’s existence.” 

“Oh good,” Harry says, genuine relief in his voice. “I don’t think any of us can take much more of this today.”

“I want to go home,” Polly says. She sounds the way Alexander feels - tired and fractious and ready to just be done. For a minute, he wishes desperately that he was going home himself - back to the familiar discomforts of their rickety New York house, where the squirrels have probably already taken over and made Laf and Herc their pets. 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Patsy says firmly. 

~~~~~

Patsy takes John and Frances aside when they get back, and Alexander is tempted to find them and try to eavesdrop or butt into the conversation or something - anything, to give him something to do. He’s starting to get edgy, feeling as if all he’s done for days now is stand around watching other people make decisions. And none of these are his decisions to make, of course, but it doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. Alexander is a man of action, as much as that is possible in his chosen life. Sitting around waiting for other people is not his strong suit. He wouldn’t be doing it at all for anyone but John. 

He winds up helping Polly cook boxed macaroni and cheese for everyone. It’s not really what he expects they’re used to eating, but she seems very sure, so mostly he just watches to make sure she doesn’t catch herself on fire or anything. 

“Jacky always used to make this for us on bad days,” Polly says as she watches the water boil. “It was the only thing we could all agree on, and Jack is a really bad cook, other than making pasta.”

“Comfort food,” Alexander agrees. “And I know all about his bad cooking. We’ve burnt many a meal together in the past few years, let me tell you.”

Polly pours in the macaroni and stirs the whole thing way too enthusiastically, but manages not to burn herself. “How come Jacky is with you and not with someone like Martha? Dad and Martha always said he’d come back and get married to her some day. Martha knew how to cook.” 

“That’s a question to ask your brother,” Alexander points out, trying not to wince. “But part of it, I think, is that we were really good friends, first and foremost. You can’t really have a good relationship with somebody unless you like them and enjoy their company.” He shrugs. “He’s my best friend. Everything else goes from there. Even good cooking isn’t as important.”

“Martha wasn’t his friend,” Polly says certainly. She wrinkles her nose a little. “We’re not supposed to say bad things about the dead, I know, but she wasn’t a very nice person.”

“Sometimes we get too concerned with only saying good things about the people we’ve lost,” Alexander tells her thoughtfully. “I’ve always thought it’s better to remember them as best we can, even if that means remembering both the good and bad parts.”

She thinks about that while she drains the pasta and mixes together the cheese sauce, the color a neon-yellow reminder of many late dinners at the house when everyone was at the end of their food budget for the month. He realizes that John has cooked mac and cheese for them all a few times, and wonders whether those had been particularly bad days for him, or whether it was all down to finances. Either way, there’s a ridiculous amount of comfort in the familiar smell, and Alexander is glad for Polly’s straightforward means of dealing with grief. 

Polly draws them all together around the table, Cessie perched in a highchair next to John, and even Harry smiles in genuine appreciation. John and Patsy are watching one another with enough care that Alexander thinks some difficult words must have been exchanged, but they’re talking to one another, and Cessie is unbothered by whatever had gone on. She feeds herself with intense concentration, one pudgy little hand wrapped around a spoon while the other carries handfuls of food directly to her mouth. Alexander feels tense just watching her, wanting to take the spoon away and feed her directly, but John lets it go and watches as she stains her hands and face yellow with every evidence of delight. 

Their father shows up in the middle of Harry telling a particularly amusing story about a group Halloween costume they’d gotten themselves talked into years ago, before John had gone away to college, and everyone is laughing too hard to notice his presence for a long moment. He stands there and watches all of them, as though he’s a statue, and his face shows absolutely no emotion at all. Alexander is slightly impressed by that talent. The Laurens kids all shut up really fast, though, which makes it all a lot less amusing. 

“Here you all are,” Henry Laurens says coldly, when silence has fallen. “I was telling the Mannings there must have been some misunderstanding or some sort of car trouble, and now I come to find that all of my children have skipped out on the reception for our dear Martha in order to - what? Tell jokes and eat junk food? Frankly, I am shocked.”

“Not as shocked as the Mannings would have been if we’d actually shown up,” Harry mutters. He’s too far away for anyone to kick him, but Alexander can see that they all want to.

“You should hold your tongue if you don’t have anything intelligent to say,” his father snaps, dismissing him with a glance. “Jack, Patsy? Can you explain yourselves?”

“We were at the service and the funeral,” Patsy says, not looking away, but there’s none of the usual certainty in her voice. “We were under the impression that the reception was for family only.”

“And was Martha not a part of our family?” Henry demands, going red. None of them answer, which is answer enough. “I find it hard to believe that my children are so quick to forget a girl who was practically a daughter to me. She was part of this family in every way except for the formality of marriage, and I think we all know why that was lacking.”

He glares at John, who just looks tired. “Martha isn’t there, dad,” he says, keeping his voice low. “And her parents were very clear about not wanting me around. I don’t want to impose on them, today of all days.”

“And why, precisely, isn’t Martha there?” Henry Laurens asks dangerously, coming closer to John. “Or here, Jack? Why are we left without her?” John swallows hard, and doesn’t answer. “I hope that you are pleased with your choices, and with everything they have cost you,” his father sneers, giving Alexander a particularly dismissive glance. “One would think that one of these days, you would learn your lesson about allowing your head to be turned too easily, and the consequences that befall as a result of that selfishness.”

Alexander can see John flinch at that, as if from a physical blow, and he has to use every ounce of willpower he possesses not to jump up and scream at Henry. How dare the man throw this at John’s feet, much less in this obscene way, clearly tangled up in the fallout from Jemmy’s death and the blame John thinks he carries from it? He’s close enough that he can press his leg against John’s from the knee down, trying to offer any bit of consolation he can. If it were just Alexander, he’d already have thrown a punch at Henry Laurens - but the man is John’s father, and John’s trying to convince him that he and Alexander are fit to parent Frances, and Polly is watching them with such round eyes that Alexander would be willing to bet she’s seen fights get physical before, and he’s not going to do anything. He sits still with such an effort that he’s vibrating, and he almost jumps in shock when John’s hand grabs his arm beneath the edge of the table, as if drawing on him for even more support. 

“Do you want us to leave, dad?” John asks, keeping his voice steady through sheer mental superheroics, Alexander is pretty sure. “If my being here is a problem, we’ll go back to New York today.” He glances at Cessie, who is now industriously scribbling orange cheese sauce all over her highchair tray, not paying any attention to the conversation, and his meaning is very clear. He’s not talking about leaving Frances behind. Alexander isn’t sure if it was the talk with Patsy before that changed his mind, or sheer spite directed at his father, but the hesitancy of a few hours earlier is gone. Fight or flight, Patsy had said, and right now it looks like John’s ready to try a bit of the fight option, for once. 

Henry stares at him for a long minute, a silent battle of wills, and Alexander squeezes John’s hand until he starts to worry he might be hurting his fingers, and backs off a little. John doesn’t blink. 

“Be enough of a man to stick around and clean up your own messes for once, Jack,” Henry finally says. It’s a dismissal and an insult, but it’s also a victory, however small, and Henry turns away at once, making for the door. “I will be returning to the Mannings to support them in this time of trial. Feel free to join us at any time, if your conscience should so direct.”

He’s gone in a minute, and the sensation of everyone holding their breath dissipates quickly. They’re not laughing anymore, though, and Alexander is pretty sure he sees Harry make a crude gesture at his father’s retreating back beneath the table. John looks at Alexander, gratitude and weariness and anger and guilt all mingled in his face, and Alexander gives him the most encouraging smile he can manage. 

For some reason, that makes John freeze up entirely, going as poker-faced as his father ever had, and he pulls his hand away from Alexander’s very quickly. It’s a startling rejection, and Alexander blinks in surprise - but John is already on his feet, starting to clean up Frances’ tray with his back to Alexander. “Anyone who wants to go, please don’t feel like you need to stay away because of me,” he tells his siblings without turning around. “This isn’t an us vs them situation.”

“I wouldn’t go for anything. Not even if they paid me,” Harry mutters. That shatters the awkwardness just enough; nobody laughs at it, but they all start moving and talking again, clearing away dishes and trying to help John get Cessie cleaned up without bloodshed. 

Alexander is the only one who isn’t moving. He’s still sitting, keeping his hands carefully in his lap, and trying to figure out exactly why it feels like John just shoved him off a cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does John have a clue what he's doing? Nope. Does Alexander? Double nope. They really really should have brought Herc and Laf along for something like common sense or training in emotional functionality. They're both just absolutely blundering along with no idea where they're going or what they're doing - or, as I like to call it, being alive. 
> 
> Love you all most dearly, my ducks! And don't worry - when I said more angst and despair in the next one, I meant the story I'm planning for after this, not a specific chapter of this one! Not that I'm saying there won't be angst here - oh, you know what I mean. I have a REALLY WEIRD idea for the next story, though, and we'll see if I'm brave enough to try it. Thank you so very much for continuing to read, and comment, and be so entirely lovely. I hope always that my stories are of some sort of help in these times! <3 - Kivrin.


	11. Eleven

They don’t go to the reception, and Henry Laurens doesn’t turn up again to scold them, for which Alexander is very grateful. He’s spent his entire life not having a father, and though there are a great many downsides to that arrangement, the upside has been a lack of paternal upbraiding, even when it might be deserved. Which it clearly isn’t here, anyway, and Alexander officially hates the way all the Laurens kids go small and quiet when their father criticises them. Even Harry, who seems the most likely to argue back, does so under his breath, for the most part. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, and Alexander would prefer to spend the rest of this visit without encountering the man again, but that’s clearly not going to happen. He and John still have to somehow convince Henry that they’re fit guardians for Cessie, which is seeming more impossible all the time. And Alexander isn’t even certain, now, whether John is committed to the idea of taking Frances home with them or not. Everything seems up in the air, all the time. He misses the certainty of his normal life with a startling fierceness - the routine, boring mundanity of the academic week with it’s rhythms and flows that had sometimes seemed stiflingly dull. He misses dull, these days. 

Feeling like a heel, he checks with John that it’s all right to absent himself for a while, and then takes off for their room with far too much enthusiasm. He just needs a few hours to work, to settle himself, to maybe find a little pocket of time that won’t yield up more horrible, sad secrets that the Laurens family are keeping under their hats. He tries not to think that John seems almost relieved to be rid of him for a while, and buries himself in his work. It’s as refreshing as diving into a cool pool on a scorching summer day, and he loses track of time entirely. By the time he blinks and looks up, finding himself groping around for a coffee cup that’s back in New York, it’s getting dark outside. He’s missed the entire afternoon and part of the evening, and he’s not sorry for it in the least, even if that makes him an awful fake boyfriend. He hasn’t gone this long without touching his work in - well, years. 

Alexander goes downstairs, feeling very out of touch with the world around him after a few hours of absenting himself, and is relieved when he finds all of them still there - though where they might have gone is not a question his mind can reasonably answer. John, Polly, and Frances have apparently spent most of the day finding ways to make new and exciting messes of the living room, if the evidence of his eyes is to be believed. Alexander leans against the wall just outside the living room, arms crossed, watching as John makes an absolute idiot of himself playing with his daughter. They’ve concocted some sort of game that must make sense to them, but it’s nothing but gibberish and nonsense to Alexander. John seems to be playing some sort of animal, maybe, chasing Frances on all fours while she runs unsteadily across the room, giggling and shrieking with laughter when he gets close. 

John doesn’t quite look like himself, Alexander thinks - and not just because his hair is an absolute wreck and his outfit is pretty much destroyed. He looks happy, content, in a way that Alexander isn’t sure he’s ever seen him. Certainly not in the past year or two. How had they not noticed how John had drifted away, closing himself off as certainly as he’d tucked himself away inside his little suite of rooms in the house and stopped welcoming anyone in? This version of John was closer to the one Alexander had known in college, when John would sometimes have to be stopped from throwing himself into the middle of barfights that were none of his business, just for the sheer excitement and adrenaline of the moment. 

Frances puts her back against the couch, turning to face John, and gives a tiny roar of defiance right in his face, and John immediately collapses to the ground, as if slain by her shout. Polly, who had been watching from the couch, leaps down and grabs Frances, hauling her away across the room as John slowly comes back to life and starts after them again, the entire game apparently restarting. Alexander tries to keep from snickering, and is startled out of it by the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Someone’s texted him.

To his bewilderment, it’s Patsy Laurens - and what she’s texted is a picture of him, Alexander, taken just now, capturing his expression as he watches John and his family. He almost drops the phone at the look on his own face - an amused, adoring look that has no business there at all, and certainly not directed at John. He looks up, glaring at Patsy as soon as he spots her a few feet away in the hallway, and she shakes a teasing finger at him as she saunters over. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” Patsy says, obviously laughing at him. “It’s not my fault you’re so smitten. I just took the picture. Thought you might want to see it before I show Jack.”

“No!” Alexander barely stops himself from lunging forward to grab her phone, and turns the motion into a more peaceful gesture, putting his hands up pleadingly. “Don’t do that!” The last thing John needs right now, in the middle of all the hell life is currently putting him through, is to have any inkling of how badly Alexander is doing at managing his own emotions right now. John has so much emotional shit to sort through right now that dumping Alexander’s burgeoning affections into the mix would probably cause him to short-circuit entirely. It’s not John’s fault that Alexander apparently has the worst sense of timing on the planet. It’s certainly not his fault that Alexander, supposedly his friend, supposedly coming down with him to help him manage this insane situation, is making things worse by falling for him in the middle of the whole mess. At this rate, John would have been better off with a random stranger he paid to accompany him. At least a stranger wouldn’t have accidentally fallen in love with John while his life imploded around him. 

Patsy looks at him, somewhere between confused and suspicious. “Why not?”

“It’s - complicated,” Alexander says lamely. “Just trust me, OK? That would not help anything right now.”

Patsy looks even more suspicious, but she puts her phone away, and he’ll take it as a win because he doesn’t have any other option. 

John starts chasing Frances again, and she heads toward Alexander with a determined squeal that could almost shatter glass. “Dodo!” Cessie calls, between frantic giggles, and flings herself at his knees, and Alexander decides he’s better off joining in than getting caught staring. He snatches her up, swinging her high out of John’s reach, and she crows in triumph, clutching his hair for balance. 

“I object!” John says, as though he’s in front of a court rather than crouching in the middle of his family’s living room floor, flushed and disheveled and grinning far too brightly for Alexander’s heart to handle. “Interference, sir!”

“As if I would turn away a damsel in distress,” Alexander says, adjusting Cessie to a more comfortable position and kissing the back of her hand in an over the top chivalrous gesture designed to make John roll his eyes. “Not my fault if she’s got good taste in knights in shining armor.”

“I was just coming to warn you,” Patsy interjects, shaking her head at all of them as she comes over, “that it’s almost a certain someone’s bedtime. You may not want to keep riling her up quite so much, or you’ll regret it!”

“If you know her bedtime routine, would you walk me through it?” John asks, getting to his feet, all business again. The happiness from before isn’t gone, but it’s subsumed in the serious student, as he sets his mind to something far more important than his usual studies. “And please tell me it’s nothing like Polly’s as a baby.”

“I don’t think any baby on earth has ever had as fussy and complicated a bedtime routine as our Polly,” Patsy says fondly, and John shakes his head, shuddering a little. “No, Cessie’s pretty easy. Maybe Alexander can help Polly move the crib into your room while we get her ready for bed?”

“Sure,” Alexander agrees, passing Cessie over to John with careful hands, though he notes that he and John have both started to lose some of the excess caution with which they handled her at first. She may be precious, but she’s not as delicate as she looks. “Here, go pull Daddy’s hair instead.” 

“Slander,” John objects, poking the baby’s nose with a gentle finger. “She’s an angel and she would never do such a thing.” He winces as she tangles her fingers in the hair that’s come loose around his face, but smiles at her anyway. “Come on, let’s see what Aunt Patsy can teach me, huh?”

“Oh, we don’t have time to even begin to answer that question,” Patsy says, grinning at both of them. 

“Come on!” Polly appears at Alexander’s side, bouncing on her toes. “You’re going to help me, right? Her crib isn’t really that heavy, but it’s too big for me to move alone without crashing it into things.” 

“I live to move furniture,” Alexander says gallantly, and Polly giggles, already bouncing away toward the stairs. 

“You and Jack and Cessie have to come home for Christmas,” she says blithely as she leads him to a room that he guesses serves as a sort of nursery for Frances when she’s at the Laurens’ house. “Other times too, of course, but Patsy says you’ll be too far away to come all the time. We’re gonna miss her awfully, though, so you have to come for holidays at least. Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter and as many others as you can manage.”

“Oh,” Alexander says, starting to move the crib without conscious thought. It’s on wheels, so it really isn’t a hardship, but he’s suddenly struggling to function through what Polly has just said. “I’ll - I’ll have to talk to John about it.”

“Yes, but he’ll do it if you say so,” Polly insists, with childish certainty. “If you just ask he might not, and then we wouldn’t get to see Cessie or Jack again, or you, and it’s been so long since Jack came home to visit.” She looks at him steadily, but he can see tears shining in her eyes. “I thought maybe he wasn’t going to come back at all, not even for Cessie, because he was so sad about Jemmy, but that was worse. It was like both of them died.”

“I’m sure that’s not going to happen again,” Alexander reassures her, though there’s a knot of dread in his stomach all of a sudden. 

This whole thing - playacting at being boyfriends and caring for Frances together - it was all very well to try to manage it for a few days in the middle of a crisis. Alexander never signed on for long-term Laurens-family-deceiving duties, and it’s not like he’d even have the time to make all those trips if he wanted to. The school year is such a whirl of activity and deadlines for him, and the holidays hardly matter enough for him to notice them, let alone take time away from work to travel and celebrate them. On the other hand, he’s not about to tell this little girl that her damaged family will have to suffer yet another loss in John taking Frances away. 

He manages to wheel the crib into the guest room and set it up in a corner away from things like windows or lightswitches, because even if he’s never really parented, himself, he’s not a complete idiot. Polly runs back and forth between rooms for a few minutes, bringing a frankly absurd number of stuffed toys, a nightlight, a white noise machine, and a complicated system of devices that she insists are a baby monitor. He’ll let John sort all of that out. 

It’s not long before John turns up with a very sweet and sleepy-looking Frances, freshly washed and dressed in pajamas, and Alexander moves out of the way, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed and watching as John settles her in the crib. He wanders around for a few minutes, plugging in the nightlight and trying to figure out the baby monitor before giving up. By the time he’s done arranging everything to his satisfaction, and has tucked Frances in with a little blanket, she’s sound asleep. John backs away from the crib slowly until he can sit on the bed next to Alexander, not taking his eyes off the sleeping baby.

“That was easy,” Alexander whispers, and John nods.

“Patsy said it would either be incredibly easy, like this, or that she’d scream for an hour at the idea of being put down. I’m really really glad I got this version tonight.”

“No shit,” Alexander agrees, and then throws his hands up defensively as John gives him an admonishing look. “Hey, she’s asleep! And besides, it’s not like she knows what any of the bad words mean yet. We don’t have to start censoring ourselves for a while, right?”

John looks baffled. “I don’t actually know. It just doesn’t seem right, all of a sudden, to be swearing and stuff around her. She’s just so innocent.”

“Yeah, until you let her hang out with Herc and Laf for more than five minutes,” Alexander points out. “Herc will teach her swear words you don’t even know yet, and Laf will have her cursing people out in French so beautifully that nobody will be able to guess they’re being insulted.”

John shifts nervously at Alexander’s side. “You haven’t said anything, have you? To either of them?”

“What, about Frances?”

“And everything else,” John says tonelessly, shrinking in on himself a bit. 

“Not a word,” Alexander swears. “I wouldn’t, John. You know that. I know how to keep my mouth shut about other people’s business.”

“No, I know you do,” John says quickly. “I just - I don’t know what to say. How to even start to explain what’s going on, and ask whether they’d be OK with it if I bring her back home, and - everything.” He sighs heavily. 

“Is that what you’re planning?” Alexander asks quietly. He’s more on edge than he should be, waiting for an answer, and he honestly doesn’t know what he wants John to say. One way or another, their lives are changing for good. There’s no way they come back from this trip the same people they were going in. 

John doesn’t look at him. “I made an appointment for tomorrow morning,” he murmurs. “To get our DNA tested, you know? That could take a few days to come back, but once it does, the process of legitimation should be pretty fast and simple. I should have full custody rights in less than a week.”

“Good.” Alexander is surprised by the vehemence with which the word slips out, but he doesn’t back off. “I know you said earlier you had your doubts, and that makes total sense. I think anyone would be scared shitless - sorry, sorry - scared witless at the idea of what you’re thinking of doing.”

“That much I have under control,” John admits. “I’ve rarely been more scared in my whole life.” There’s a slightly bitter twist to the words that Alexander hates, but there’s nothing he can do to undo any of what’s come before. John sighs again, heavily, and Alexander nudges him gently in the ribs. 

“She’s asleep, Laurens. That means this is the part where you get to relax and take time for yourself. You don’t have to sit here all night and watch her breathe, you know.”

“Don’t I?” The bleakness in John’s voice, and the fear that sits in his eyes when he finally turns to look at Alexander, are breathtaking. “If I’m going to do this - if, I’m saying, I don’t have it all worked out yet - but if I am, how can I ever afford to look away? I told you before, about Jemmy.” He swallows hard, and glances back at Frances again reflexively. “I can’t ever let something like that happen again. Not to her.”

“You won’t.” Alexander hesitates for a minute, weighing his options, and then decides to take a risk. He puts a hand gently on John’s shoulder, moving slowly and telegraphing his motions, and squeezes reassuringly. “You’re crazy about that little monster already. And you know what? You’re gonna fuck up.”

“Alexander!” John hisses, but Alexander shakes his head. 

“Nope. She’s asleep, and it’s the truth, anyway. You’re going to, because every parent does. And you know what? Maybe you won’t get it right. Maybe you won’t be enough for her, or you’ll make mistakes that will be hard to forgive. Maybe she’ll get hurt, sometimes. That’s not what matters.” He leans in closer, making John maintain eye contact. “Every parent fucks up, and they all know it. But some of them walk away, or don’t give a shit what kind of damage they do, or don’t have the strength to keep trying. As long as you’re trying to keep getting better and to do right by her, it’s going to be OK.”

John gives a little laugh that’s closer to a sob than it should be, and shakes his head. “Since when are you a font of expert parenting advice?”

“I’m a genius, haven’t you heard?” Alexander says loftily, to make John laugh for read, and then admits more quietly, “And I had both kinds of parents, myself. Just don’t give up on her, and you’ll be doing better than way too many.”

“Is it selfish of me to want to try?” John asks, his voice hardly more than a whisper. 

“You’re too smart to be asking questions that stupid, Laurens,” Alexander says, uncomfortably aware of how fond his voice sounds, of how a stupid little smile is trying to cross his face, and sometimes it’s more trouble than it’s worth, having a body and human emotions, but there’s no alternative. “Now, do you want to tell the disgustingly happy couple, or do you want me to break the news?”

John flops backward onto the bed, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. “Oh, help,” he says, and Alexander decides John is talking to him rather than the ceiling fan. He’s much better at helping, after all. 

It takes a truly ridiculous number of text messages, and pictures of Frances and John, and even a quick and whispered FaceTime conversation to show them video evidence of the tiniest Laurens (OK, technically her last name is Manning, but she’s got John’s entire face, she’s a Laurens to Alexander) before Herc and Laf even begin to absorb what Alexander has been living in the midst of for the past few days. 

John goes to take a shower, making Alexander promise to watch Frances the entire time, and by the time he comes back, Alexander is able to give him a smug grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame. “What?” John asks warily.

“Guess where they’re going?” Alexander says, and grins wider as John looks confused. “They both insisted on going shopping right now for babyproofing supplies. Herc is researching all the steps, and Laf insists they’ll have made the place impossible for Frances to be anything but one hundred percent secure in before we get back.”

That’s what pushes John over the edge. Alexander has watched him teeter back and forth along emotional precipices for the past few days. It shouldn’t be surprising that it’s an act of kindness from friends that finally upsets his composure. He doesn’t say anything when John breaks down in tears, or do anything but provide tissues and silent support. Somehow, for once, it doesn’t feel like there’s anything else he needs to do. 

~~~~~

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s entirely too early. There’s barely a trace of greyish light around the edges of the curtains, and he’s being gently smothered under a carelessly outflung arm. It takes Alexander a minute to wrestle himself free, and another to work out what woke him up at this ungodly hour. When he finally does, spotting a tiny face watching him from a distance of approximately eighteen inches, he gives a startled yelp that wakes John up, sending him scrambling bolt upright as Alexander does the same. 

“What? What?” John demands blearily. “Squirrels?”

“No,” Alexander hisses, not blinking at the apparition in front of him. “I think your kid can fly.”

John look stupidly over at the crib, which is deceptively still and serene, and then leans forward to peer past Alexander. “Cessie?” he asks, like it might be some other tiny pajama-clad fiend who had snuck out to give them heart attacks.

“I up,” Frances declares solemnly. 

“I see that,” John says, voice a little faint. “You can climb out of your crib, huh?”

“Out,” Frances agrees. She babbles a few more words that Alexander can’t even pretend to understand, but the meaning is clear. 

“Guess sleeping time is over,” he groans, and slumps back against the headboard. “I need so much coffee.”

“Dodo goffee,” Francis says agreeably. She wanders closer and pats the bed, clearly finished with their slowness. “Up!”

Someone could probably make a very entertaining montage of their morning activities for a comedy film, Alexander reflects grumpily more than once over the next few hours. He’s basically a member of the vegetable kingdom until he’s had a few cups of coffee, and John is not at his best right now, and Frances takes joyful advantage of the whole situation. It’s far later than it has any right to be before they’re all fed and dressed and ready to face the day - and then they have to tackle an entirely new and impossible hurdle. They have to move Cessie’s carseat into the back of John’s car. All of John’s compunctions about swearing in front of the baby go out the window during that debacle, and it winds up taking both of them and some helpful Youtube videos before it’s accomplished. Carseats are definitely one of the levels of Hell, Alexander decides philosophically. 

They barely make it to the testing facility in time for the appointment John has booked, and then it takes longer for him to fill out paperwork and prove his identity than it does to swab the inside of both of their cheeks. The tech who’s doing the collection rolls his eyes at the whole process. 

“As if this one wasn’t clear to the naked eye,” he says, gesturing at John and his daughter. “She’s obviously yours.”

“I know,” John says, looking down at Cessie with that awestruck expression again, and Alexander has to look away. 

And then comes Alexander’s least favorite part of anything, ever. Waiting.

It’s only supposed to take a day or two for the DNA results to come back, but that’s still time they have to fill, and entirely too much of it is spent under the disapproving eye of Henry Laurens. If it weren’t for him, Alexander has to admit privately that he wouldn’t really have minded. It’s actually quite nice getting to spend so much unstructured time with John without having anything threatening to explode or fall in on their heads while they try to solve a problem. Frances continues to be a delight, other than when she gets too tired or hungry and unleashes the full might of the Laurens temper. He’s happy to let John deal, then.

They run a few errands here and there, as much to get out of the house as to practice doing everyday things with a toddler in tow. Turns out that grocery shopping, or even running to the convenience store to pick up a jug of milk, is a good deal more complicated with a babe in arms. They’re getting good at the teamwork aspect, though, and better all the time at sharing the responsibility of managing Cessie. She doesn’t stop calling Alexander Dodo, though, no matter how hard he tries to convince her to find another nickname, and John doesn’t stop laughing about it. It’s weird, like playing house in the middle of a crowded theater, and they’re always aware of everyone watching them.

What’s weirder is how nice it is, if Alexander can admit it to himself in secret.

It’s still whatever, though. They’ve only got to do all of this for a few more days, and then they can go home, and Alexander can bury himself back in his books, and things can go back to normal. Not for John, of course - his normal is gone - but Alexander’s life is going to go on as usual, as soon as this strange little interlude is over. 

He shouldn’t be regretting that. He shouldn’t be wishing the court would draw things out a little longer, just to give them a few more days of make-believe domesticity, of watching with amusement as older people stare at them in public, trying to figure out their relationships with one another, of taking turns pushing Cessie in the swing at the park. It’s not his world. It’s John and Cessie’s, and he’s just here on loan for a few more days, until everything goes back to normal. 

And that’s fine, obviously. That’s good. He’s made his choices, and he’s got his entire future on the line already. Alexander Hamilton has papers to write, and arguments to make, and a name to make for himself. He’s on the road to having it all. He’s not going to give that up.

He can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, you guys. Things are about to start Happening, so I had to end the chapter here before it gets impossibly long, before Things Happen. I'm ready, though, and hoping it won't take as long to get the next chapter out. (Have just purchased a new chromebook to replace my very tiny, old, and sad chromebook that's been dying. This will hopefully help.) 
> 
> Anyway, much love to you all, and welcome to yet another new month in the hellscape that is 2020. Hold on tight and be kind, kids - to others, and to yourself. We'll get through this. <3


	12. Twelve

The DNA results come the next day. To absolutely no-one’s surprise, Frances is absolutely John’s daughter, and it’s barely more than a nod of acknowledgement, a step along the road that will lead them home. John hasn’t been waiting uselessly, of course. For once, his legal training is coming in handy, and he’s been going through all the required steps to achieving legitimation through the courts. Now that they’ve got the DNA result, they just need a legal ruling that establishes John as Frances’ legal father and grants him full parental rights. That means a trip to the courthouse.

Courts are not Alexander’s favorite places. He’s been through a few too many of them in the years where he was changing hands too often, passing from one set of guardians to another, but he’s not about to send John in to face that moment all alone. Or even with Frances because, cute as she is, she’s not great at offering legal counsel or even providing a supportive presence in a moment of uncertainty. John insists that they all dress properly, and they’re all in their funeral clothes again by the time they need to leave for court.

“You’re sure now?” Patsy asks quietly, accompanying them to the door to say goodbye, and John nods. 

“Sure that I’ll get it right? Of course not. But I’m sure this is the right thing to do - to try to do my best by her.” He smiles down so sweetly at Frances, who’s clinging to his hand and pulling him forward eagerly, and Alexander finds himself smiling in response. 

“You’re a good man, Jack,” Patsy says quietly. “And you’re not facing this alone, you know that.” She looks at him meaningfully, and also shoots a glance at Alexander, who nods agreement.

“He certainly isn’t,” Alexander agrees, even though he’s a little uneasy about the way Patsy is watching him. It feels like he’s losing his grip on something, and he’s not quite sure what. And then there’s the looming problem of the fact that they’re lying through their teeth, and letting the Laurens family believe Cessie is going into a situation that they’re misrepresenting, and-

There’ll be time to sort all of that out later, Alexander tells himself firmly. And he and Herc and Laf will absolutely have John’s back, so it really is true that he’s not in it alone, even if it’s not quite the ideal situation they’re portraying to her relatives. 

They’ve bought all of it, hook line and sinker, which is certainly a relief, but also comes as a bit of surprise to Alexander. He hadn’t really expected their imaginary relationship to hold up quite so well under scrutiny, and of course he hadn’t ever thought they’d stay for so long. No-one has questioned their relationship, though, and while he’d love to think that his own acting skills are to thank for that, he’s actually not quite sure how they’re pulling it off. Frances helps, actually - she’s a giant, babbling, drooly, adorable distraction. Nobody is looking at him or John when Cessie is around, that much is certain. (Except maybe Patsy, who he suspects of secretly being a detective or something, the way she watches everything.)

To give them their due credit, though, he and John have actually gotten a lot better at the fake relationship shit, too. Somehow, John has relaxed a ridiculous amount about things like physical contact, and Alexander doesn’t feel like he’s playing with lighted matches anymore when the situation calls for him to take John’s hand or touch his arm. Even the insane sharing-a-bed nightmare has sort of evaporated in the light of all the drama they’ve been dealing with. There’s no awkwardness to it anymore. They might as well have been sharing a sleeping space for months, for as easy as it is now. Cessie sleeps in her crib and is awake before them every single day, appearing silently at the bedside when she’s decided she’s finished sleeping, and then there’s no arguing to be done - sleep is over. She’s deceptively small and round for a person who has turned out to be a complete and total tyrant, Alexander reflects as John buckles her into her carseat. 

The court hearing itself is a similar non-event, in the context of how much it means for John and Cessie. It’s an entirely routine procedure, apparently, and all they need is the DNA test and proof that John is who he claims to be, and they walk out ten minutes later with John formally recognized as his daughter’s father, now her only parent. He looks a bit stunned, Alexander thinks fondly, and nudges him with an elbow.

“Now what?” he asks, grinning as John turns to him, still looking uncertain.

“This is as far as I got in my plans,” John confesses, balancing Cessie in one arm while he stares at Alexander in bewilderment. “I mean, I made a list, and this was as far as I got. I guess it didn’t feel like it would really happen, necessarily, so I don’t know what comes next.” 

“I think lunch,” Alexander says practically, and Cessie gives a squeal of excitement at that word, clapping her hands in agreement. 

“No,” John objects, and then shakes his head. “I mean yeah, of course, lunch is a good idea - but in terms of what actually comes next-”

“Worry about that later,” Alexander says, wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders (and if he reaches far enough to ruffle Frances’ hair a little, who’s going to call him on it?) and steering them away from the courthouse. “Right now, we should celebrate. What’s good around here? My treat.” He doesn’t have the funds to go out to eat as often as he’d like, but this is a special moment, and Alexander will be damned if they don’t at least recognize it in some small way. He’s not sure that John’s allowed himself to really process what it all means, yet - that his long period of silent waiting is really over, that Frances is going to be part of his life forever now, that he’s made commitments that, quite frankly, terrify Alexander to the core. Those are John’s decisions, though. Nobody is asking any such thing of Alexander, thank all the gods, 

There’s a nice little hole-in-the-wall restaurant tucked away only a few minutes’ walk from the courthouse - the sort of place you’d never notice if you weren’t familiar with the area - and they duck inside, where the dim coolness of the dining room is a nice contrast to the brilliant sunshine that’s starting to make it feel a lot like actual summer outside. 

They find a table, and a waiter provides one of those weird wooden highchairs for Frances that Alexander is always terrified will somehow manage to break her legs as they struggle to get her in and out. It’s very badly designed, he thinks grumpily, and John has taken to letting him handle the evil things because Cessie cooperates better for him. (She may already be working out exactly how to get what she wants from John with particular facial expressions - all wide eyes and pleading, pouty faces. Alexander is made of sterner stuff, and can at least manage to look away so he doesn’t collapse beneath the strain of such emotional manipulation.) 

“Bend your leg,” Alexander encourages her, trying to lower her into the seat at the exact right angle. Frances keeps her legs straight and stares up at him, a clear challenge. “Come on, honey. Help Dodo out here, huh?” John is laughing at him, barely bothering to try to hide it, and Alexander gives him a narrow-eyed glare. Finally, Frances takes pity on him, or just gets tired of the game, and allows herself to be properly seated, immediately grabbing for everything in reach that she can possibly look at, throw on the floor, or put in her mouth, and Alexander collapses melodramatically into the seat across from John. “Changed my mind,” he grumbles, although he can’t make himself stop grinning stupidly. “That was my fair share, so now you can pay for lunch.”

“I think not,” John shoots back. “You made a promise, Alexander, and I’m holding you to it!”

“Last time I ever do anything that stupid,” Alexander grumbles. John just laughs at him again, which - ok, fair, he has a point. He looks at the menu with wounded dignity, ignoring how Cessie is grabbing for the edges of it. 

The food doesn’t look like anything to write home about, but it’s reasonably priced and the waitress promises it will be delivered fast, which is always a good thing when you’re trying to keep a toddler amused during the wait. 

“Pro tip,” John says, grinning. “Restaurants near courthouses tend to feed you fast. Jurors only get so long for lunch breaks, and they’ve got to be fed and back to court before their time is up.”

“And here your father worries whether you’re learning enough of value in law school!” Alexander says, shaking his head. Then he kicks himself, because he’s managed to say just the wrong thing, and he watches the amusement melt from John’s face, leaving behind apprehension. 

“Law school,” he says heavily, and lets out a deep breath. “Now that she’s - she’s mine-” he hesitates a second, glancing at Cessie with absolutely melting adoration, and Alexander has to remind his heart to mind it’s place - “I still have to figure out how to make everything work out. How do I manage law school, and studying for the bar, and - and all of it, and also take care of Cessie?”

If there’s one thing Alexander absolutely cannot and will not allow, it’s for John to even think about giving up on his studies. He’s only got a year left, and it would be criminal to let him do something as stupid as give up on them now. He keeps his tone deliberately light and easy, and shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. One day at a time, if that’s what it takes.” John takes a sudden, sharp breath, as if Alexander has just stabbed him, and Alexander looks at him in surprise. “What?” 

“Alexander,” John says tentatively, picking nervously at the napkin wrapped around his utensils. “There’s something we need to-”

“And here’s your order!” The waitress is obnoxiously cheerful, considering that she’s just interrupted what Alexander suspects is a moment of some weight, considering how anxious John looks, and how relieved he seems at the interruption. “I’ll just put the little one’s food next to yours, dad. I know how quickly these plates can wind up on the floor!” She grins at John, and then at Alexander and Frances in turn, shaking her head. “Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest family we’ve had in here all day! What a lucky little girl.” She looks so moved by their very existence that she could about burst into tears, which Alexander would find a good deal more annoying if they hadn’t been glared at so many times in the past few days. It was nice just to have someone not look at them as if they were a walking scandal just for breathing. He wonders absently if they’ll have fewer looks like that back in New York, where people are a little more - well, if not tolerant, then at least more likely to mind their own business. 

He has to remind himself, with a sudden forcible shock of loss, that nobody in New York is going to be looking at them either way, because they aren’t a couple, and when they get home, they won’t even be pretending anymore. It’s a sharp blow to the heart, even though he has absolutely no right to feel that way, and Alexander breathes around it for a moment. They’ve been playing this game of make-believe a little too long. By the time he’s got himself back under control, the waitress is gone and John is busy cutting Cessie’s food into tiny bites for her so that she can shove entire handfuls of them in her mouth at once. (Frances has many good qualities, Alexander will now be the first to admit, but her table manners are not among them.) 

Alexander pokes at his food, finding he suddenly has no appetite at all. “So, do you think your dad is going to get on board with the whole plan?” he asks, voice heavier than it ought to be. 

John nods. “Patsy said he told her he was ‘surprised but encouraged’ by my sudden turn toward responsibility. He’s crediting Martha’s death with having brought me to my senses.” He makes a face at his food, looking as uninterested in it as Alexander feels. “I think he’ll want to have another lecture or two at me before he gives his blessing, but I have a feeling we’ve managed provisional approval, at least.” 

“And the Mannings aren’t objecting or anything?”

John looks angry at that question. “No. They don’t even want her. Can you imagine?” 

No, Alexander thinks. But a week ago he could, and did. It’s been a really weird week, to be fair, but it’s still hard to shake the feeling that he’s not quite the same as he’d been on their way down to South Carolina, and he doesn’t know what that means, yet. 

“All the better for us, then,” he says, tickling Cessie’s cheek with a finger, and then remembering why that was a bad idea at mealtime as she grins at him through a mouth full of food. “One less battle to have to fight.”

“Yeah,” John says, looking like he’s been stabbed again. “Look, Alexander-”

“Jack?” The voice that interrupts is not one Alexander recognizes, and it’s full of so much scorn, even in that first syllable, that he can feel his hackles rising. “Jack Laurens?”

He sees the color drain from John’s face, and immediately turns to see who’s addressing him. It’s the busboy, balancing a tray of dirty dishes on one arm as he stares at John with open surprise. He’s huge, Alexander notes with a part of his mind that’s always sizing people up as threats, a full head taller than either of them, and the cheerful colors of his uniform don’t make him look any less of a physical threat. 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” John says, sounding strangled. “You said you were going to grad school in Georgia.”

“That didn’t work out,” the young man says with a shrug. He can’t be much older than they are, for all that he’s got the scowl of a much older man. He puts the tray of dishes down on an empty table and saunters closer. “How about you, Jacky? Finally come back home?”

That shouldn’t sound like a threat. It does. Alexander’s tension levels ratchet up a little further, and a quick glance at John shows the same reaction on his end, along with a good measure of what looks entirely too much like fear. There’s a knot in Alexander’s stomach, all of a sudden. 

“Not to stay,” John says sharply. “I was in town for a funeral.”

“Of course,” he says, shaking his head. “Poor Martha. I’d have come if I could have gotten time off, but…” He gestures around, then fixes John with a contemptuous smile. “She never did get over you, you know. Never was the brightest girl, was she?”

“I’d rather you didn’t speak ill of the dead,” John says stiffly. Alexander honestly doesn’t know what to make of this, because this isn’t John. His speech and movements are all off. “Anything I can help you with before we’re on our way, Joe?” 

“How’s that for a friendly greeting?” Joe asks, throwing his arms wide and smiling, sharklike. “First time seeing each other in years, and this is how you act, Jacky? Guess New York really did get to you.”

“Guess so,” John says, entirely guarded. He slides a foot under Frances’ highchair and pulls it towards him surreptitiously. She hasn’t stopped inhaling her food. “People change, you know.”

“Guess so,” Joe echoes, and gives John and Alexander a leering, crude smile that feels more like a threat than any weapon that’s ever been brandished at him. He’s been mugged before - twice - and it’s never felt like such a personal threat. “Interesting company you’re keeping now, Jacky. Care to make the introductions?”

John goes a sudden, surprising shade of red, and averts his eyes. “Alexander, this is Joe Simpson,” he mutters. Alexander blinks, startled. He’s not used to seeing John Laurens back down from anyone, let alone a busboy in a bright yellow polo shirt. “Joe, Alexander Hamilton.”

“And little Franny, of course,” Joe says, grinning unpleasantly at the baby, who still hasn’t noticed him. “Martha always said you’d come back for her, but I don’t think she meant like this.”

“You and Martha kept in touch?” John asks woodenly, pulling Frances a little closer to him. 

“When we wound up being some of the only ones from our highschool to stick around town, yeah, we spent some time together,” Joe says. He pulls a chair away from the empty table behind him and sits, as though they’re going to spend some time catching up. It should make him feel like less of a threat, having him seated as well, but it doesn’t. Alexander reaches slowly under the table, trying to see if he can reach John’s hand without being obvious. He’s too far away. “Alexander, was it?” Joe asks suddenly. “How do you know our Jack, then?”

“We’ve been friends for quite a while,” Alexander says easily, not willing to give Simpson one bit of information he can use against John until he works out what this weird dynamic between them is. “Met in college through mutual friends, and we hit it off.”

Joe looks between them with that leering smile again, and shakes his head slowly. “So poor Martha never had a chance, did she? I tried to tell her that, and she never would listen to me. I told her from the beginning her plan wasn’t going to work, but she never would believe the truth about you.”

“Look, I’m sure you’ve got to get back to work,” John says. “We can’t stay long, either. Places to go.” He starts unbuckling Frances from her highchair, and reaching for wipes for her sticky hands. 

“No time to catch up?” Joe says, looking disappointed. “But there’s so much I’d like to tell Alexander. Things he ought to know, don’t you think?”

John looks up at him, ice-cold in a way that Alexander has never seen him before. “I don’t think he needs to hear anything you have to say.” He wipes Cessie’s face gently, and eases her out onto his lap. “Ready to go?” John asks, his voice brittle, and Alexander doesn’t want to hear another word in that tone. He pulls out his wallet and throws down enough cash to cover the food that they haven’t touched. 

“Don’t walk away from me, Jack,” Joe says, his voice entirely calm and even and so certain, as if there’s no question that he’ll be obeyed. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

“I didn’t ask,” John says, his voice still icy. He stands up, darting a quick, desperate glance at Alexander; he’s on his feet in an instant, picking up Cessie’s diaperbag and moving around the table to position himself with John and Cessie, the table between them and Simpson, who looks stunned. 

“Oh, you’ve got him eating out of your hand, don’t you?” Simpson hisses, narrowing his eyes at Alexander. “Thought I was too controlling - as if you had any room to be picky, Jack - and now what? You’ve found someone completely spineless? No fear he’s going to go spilling your secrets, huh?” He stands up, and even from a few feet away it feels like he’s imposing on their space.

Frances gives a cry of protest, burying her face in the crook of John’s neck, and Alexander darts a quick glance at his face, trying to work out what he needs to do. John looks absolutely frozen, hands moving automatically to comfort the baby, but he doesn’t seem able to look away from Simpson. And Alexander -

He doesn’t have the context for any of this, not really, not fully. He doesn’t know what’s making John look like that, or whether Frances has reasons to dislike Simpson personally, or what exactly this piece of rat-shit thinks he’s trying to accomplish, talking to John this way, but he’s absolutely had it. He’s tired of watching John be careful and hold his tongue, tired of watching people treat him badly, when John deserves nothing but the very best. He’s better than any of them, that’s obvious on the face of it, and Alexander’s been polite and quiet, and now he’s done.

He puts a hand on John’s arm, slowly and gently, but he means for it to send a message. He looks at Simpson, calling up all the superiority and disdain he would use toward a student he caught cheating in class. “Mr. Simpson,” he says calmly, offering a superior smile. “I’m afraid you seem to be under the misapprehension that John is answerable to you in some way. I don’t care to know why you would think something so stupid, nor why you think it’s acceptable to accost customers of this fine establishment, but I can assure you your time is being wasted in an absurd fashion here. We’re leaving, and you seem to have work to do.” He gestures towards the empty dishes and the table they’re leaving. 

“Whatever you’re looking to get from him, you won’t.” Simpson’s voice is a threatening growl, and he speaks directly to Alexander. “Bad bargain, that’s Jack Laurens.”

“Good thing I’m not looking to get anything,” Alexander says lightly. He moves his hand slowly, intentionally, and could almost give a sob of relief when John takes hold of it, squeezing back as hard as John does. “It’s an interesting way to interact with other people, you know. Maybe you’ll try it some day.” He doesn’t bother to wait for a response - just starts walking, and he’s relieved beyond words when he doesn’t have to pull John along or even encourage him in any way. John’s out the door before he is, stepping back into the sunlight without a moment’s hesitation, and Alexander can’t help but give a triumphant little grin at Simpson, who looks thunderstruck. He lets the door fall closed behind him, and then all he can do is follow John, who’s marching down the street with furious strides, breathing as hard as though he’d actually fought Simpson physically. 

Alexander lets it go for a few blocks, until they’re close to where they’d parked that morning, and then tugs lightly on John’s hand, bringing them to a stop at the corner of two major roads, on a quiet stretch of sidewalk. “Look, he didn’t follow us,” Alexander says gently. “We don’t need to run.”

“I’m not running,” John says, far too fast. He’s clearly thought it, himself. “I just don’t want him anywhere near Frances.”

“Old friend?” Alexander asks lightly. He’s not going to push. He’s never going to push too hard, ever again; the aura he’d gotten off of Simpson, the malevolent sense of needing to be in control, has left a foul taste in his mouth. 

John gives a tiny shiver. “Old boyfriend. In high school, and then long distance, in college.”

College, Alexander thinks. College, where he’d known John for years, and had never heard anything like a hint at a significant other, or seen a single picture of Simpson, or even had confirmation of his suspicion that John liked guys until very late in their senior year. That’s all suddenly feeling way more significant than it ever had before. 

He smiles at John, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “Can’t say I’m incredibly impressed by your taste, Laurens.” 

“Me neither,” John says, looking sick. “It wasn’t. Look, it was fine for a long time, OK? And by the time it wasn’t, I didn’t quite know how to get out of it, so I just sort of stuck around for longer than I should.” And that also raises more questions than Alexander likes, but this is not the time or place to ask any of them. He just nods, sympathetic, present. It’s all he can do at the moment. 

“DaDee?” Cessie says, patting him on the chest with one hand while she clings to his shoulder with the other. “I home?”

“That’s a good idea,” Alexander says gently, to both of them. “Why don’t we head back to the house, maybe see about getting someone down for her nap?” 

But John shakes his head, still looking sick. “We can’t,” he says, blinking too fast. “Look, I’ve let it go way too long, and that’s on me, but there’s something I’ve got to say.”

“Okay,” Alexander says slowly. John lets go of his hand, resettling Cessie more firmly, and doesn’t reach back towards him. 

“Joe Simpson was a mistake,” he says, his voice very quiet. “And Martha was a worse one. I was in a bad place, after Jemmy - well. And I came back to be with my family, and had a huge fight with my dad, even though I’d broken up with Joe, and then Martha asked me to come around. We’d been friends once.” The story he’s telling is very broken up, shattered pieces trying to arrange themselves in some semblance of order. “She seemed really sympathetic, and got me to drink way too much, and - but I didn’t even like her, Alexander! You know I don’t-” he stops, calming himself, bouncing Cessie a little, as though he’s just remembered she’s there. “And it was all a plan, it turned out. She really thought I’d come back and marry her when it turned out she was pregnant, and they were all so furious when I said I wouldn’t. I didn’t think I could ever come home again.”

“I know,” Alexander offers, as the torrent of words slows for a moment. He does remember enough of senior year, when he really thinks about it, to know that things were wrong, in hindsight. John had been so distant, and had stopped coming out with them when they went for drinks or to the rare party that year, when they’d all been so focused on their studies and what was coming next. He’s more than a little sick at the thought that they’d all been so blind to what John was going through, and more so that John hadn’t thought he could confide in them. 

“But you don’t,” John says, looking greener than ever, and swallowing hard. “Because I promised myself I wasn’t ever, ever going to do something that stupid again. Clearly, I have the worst judgment in the world, and then I went and did something even worse.”

That makes Alexander’s heart thump for a moment, because the idea that there’s still more, that John’s got yet more secrets hiding away behind a face he thought he could read so well, is almost overwhelming. “If we have to go hide a body now,” he says, still trying to keep it light, “you’re really going to owe me.”

“No,” John says, losing his composure for an instant as he tries not to grin, and then sobering again. “No. I went and fell in love.”

“Oh,” Alexander says. It feels like someone has attached a cannonball to his heart and dropped it into the sea, sinking down and down, further from the light with every second. Now he almost wishes they were hiding a body.

“I didn’t mean to,” John says. He’s studying Cessie’s hair with great intensity, trying to avoid eye contact. “And I knew I was ruining everything, but I couldn’t help it. And here you are, standing up for me, and I just - I can’t do it anymore, Alexander. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Alexander says, his voice like lead. He wonders absently who it is that John has fallen for, and how the hell he hadn’t noticed - but, then, the last week has been a case study in all the ways he actually doesn’t know John as well as he thought he did.

“Don’t be,” John says, almost furious. “You’ve been nothing but amazing. God, Alexander, watching you this week with my family, and having you right there every time I needed help, every time it was too much - there you were! And watching you with Cessie-” he breaks off, his voice getting rough. Alexander waits, because nothing makes sense anymore, and he really doesn’t get how any of this fits in with whatever John’s trying to tell him about who he’s fallen in love with. “I’m sorry,” he says, getting control again. “I never should have asked you to do this in the first place. It was unfair to you, and now I’ve made everything worse - but I can’t do it anymore, Alexander. I can’t. I can’t keep lying about all of it, not when all I want is for it to be real, and knowing that it can’t be is killing me.”

“Wait,” Alexander says, feeling very stupid indeed. “John, slow down. I don’t understand.”

John gives a laugh that sounds more like a sob, and Cessie makes an unhappy noise, patting him gently. “I never learn my lesson,” he says quietly. “I’m so selfish, Alexander. I let my head get turned, and get distracted by what I want, and then people get hurt, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in this position. I know you only came along to help me, and it’s my fault. I never should have let you come.”

“John,” Alexander says helplessly, putting out a hand. “What are you talking about?”

“I never meant to fall in love with you,” John says, looking absolutely devastated. “I swear I didn’t. You’re my best friend, and I thought I could handle it, but you’ve been so goddamn perfect this whole time, and now I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep faking this - us, I mean. It’s got to stop.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Alexander says wildly, trying to corral the thoughts that are suddenly racing through his mind. If John means it - if he really feels the same way, then Alexander doesn’t have to keep lying to himself either, and they can-

“It does,” John says, sadly but firmly. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell the family it was my fault. I’ll smooth it over with them.”

“John,” Alexander starts, but his head is a mess of thoughts, and it’s very hard to put anything together. 

He thinks of Patsy, looking at him with suspicion and warning him not to take advantage of her brother, and of Polly, asking him to make John come back for all the holidays, and of how small John had looked in the restaurant, facing Simpson and trying to stand up against something that Alexander honestly doesn’t begin to understand, yet. He’s missing the context for everything, and he needs time to think and paper to straighten out his thoughts and make a plan, and he really could use Herc or Laf or anyone with more common sense than he’s got to explain what he should do right now.

What he should do, obviously, is tell John that the feeling is mutual, that he’s also fallen stupidly in love, and then they can live happily ever after-

And then what? His brain is a merciless interrogator. And then what - you try to turn a fake relationship into a real thing, with a best friend you apparently don’t know as well as you think you do, and landmines of his secrets scattered everywhere? And they haven’t even gotten to any of Alexander’s own emotional landmines, which are, by themselves, enough to detonate any kind of serious relationship, which is why he hasn’t even tried to have one - 

Cessie gives an unhappy coo again, and Alexander feels his head swimming, his future poised in front of him. On the one hand, there’s John and Cessie, both looking at him with wide, dark eyes, a vision of a future he’s never even let himself imagine. He’s not cut out for co-parenting, not really, or for being someone who can be relied upon, and if he says yes to them, what does that mean for everything else? He has plans - a PhD, and an academic career, and then he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t already sketched out a roadmap into politics in the future, a bright and shining career path designed to put an end to all of the worries and deprivations of his childhood. He has it all, laying neatly in front of him, planned out - everything he’s worked and sacrificed for. 

“I don’t.” Alexander says, and then stops, trying to find words, trying to even think through what to say. Cessie starts squirming, beginning to fuss in earnest, and John shushes her, running a hand through her hair, rubbing her back. 

“I’m sorry,” John says again, looking utterly helpless. “I should have told you days ago, but everything was so - but I can’t make excuses. I hope we can still be friends?”

“Of course,” Alexander says woodenly, trying to make his heart keep beating. 

“I’m not going to let this ruin everything,” John says fiercely, and Alexander thinks stupidly that if he could pummel the feelings out of himself, that’s what John would be doing right now. “You’re my best friend. I can’t imagine anyone else putting up with half of what you have on this trip, and I couldn’t stand to lose you.” Cessie fusses more, and John looks torn. “I have to-” he says, shrugging uselessly. “She’s got to go and take a nap. Worst timing on the planet - I guess that’s how you can tell she’s really my kid.” He grins awkwardly, friendly and false in a way that might just break Alexander’s heart. 

“Can I,” Alexander says carefully. He thinks for a moment, and there’s no way to put any of it in words, in the middle of the sidewalk, as John holds a crabby toddler who’s heading for a full meltdown. He doesn’t know what he’d say, even if he could speak. “Look. Why don’t you head home? I’ll get an Uber and meet you back there later.” It’s so awkward he wants to die, and he thinks John feels the same, but he nods furiously. 

“Yeah, of course. I understand. A little distance might help, huh?” He backs away a pace or two, and smiles again, and Alexander feels his heart break a little more. “We’ll see you later, then.” And John and Cessie walk away, disappearing around a corner, as Alexander tries to figure out what the hell just happened, and how he’s going to make himself move from this corner ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, yes. Shamefully belated, absurdly long, and...don't throw things at me, OK? I read your comments, you all knew bad things were coming, don't act surprised now! I'll put things right in the end, more likely than not.
> 
> I'm a little emotional tonight, so I'll keep it brief here. Love you guys very much. Stay safe, stay well, and remember that you matter a very great deal. <3


	13. Thirteen

He doesn’t move for a long time, as it turns out. There’s a bench a few paces away, and he makes it as far as that bench and slumps down heavily onto it, staring at the ground between his feet. The whole world keeps spinning, and his head with it, and he can hardly even think straight. 

Nothing makes sense anymore. John says he loves Alexander, which - that makes no sense, but John’s been through a lot this past week. Sometimes emotions get mixed up in times of heightened stress, and Alexander had happened to be there for John in a rough time, so if he’s feeling a bit more fond than usual, that’s probably nothing that will last. And even if it does, there’s no saying that they would ever actually be able to make a go of it, even if Alexander somehow worked up the courage to tell John his affections were returned, after the awful mess he’d just made by not opening his mouth at the right moment. He’s spent his entire life dealing in words, at the right time and place, and when it had truly mattered, he hadn’t been able to speak. He’ll be lucky if he and John can even see one another again without wincing from the awkwardness that’s sure to follow all their encounters from now on.

And that thought makes him angry - with himself, and with John, because damn it all to hell, they’d both messed up. Neither of them had been honest at the right time, and now their friendship, all the years and experiences piled on top of one another that had made John the safest place in the world to Alexander, is teetering on the brink, and he doesn’t know how to stabilize it. He can already imagine the awkward silence of the drive back home, the way he and John will carefully avoid each other, while being nothing but polite and considerate, the excuses they’ll make for being absent, until everything has quietly disintegrated into dust and memories. How could they have been so fucking stupid, he wonders, and he would shout about it if he still had a voice that worked. Apparently that’s not something he can do anymore, though, because he’s a moron. 

He about falls off the bench in shock when his phone rings, and he’s very tempted to just throw it in a trashcan and walk away, but it isn’t John calling. It’s Patsy. Oh, lord. 

“Hello?” he answers cautiously, holding the phone with great care, even though he knows it can’t actually explode and kill him.

“Alexander? Where are you?” Patsy’s voice is so calm and considerate that Alexander gives a sigh of relief. John hasn’t told her, yet.

“I’m still downtown, near the courthouse,” he mutters. “Is everything OK?”

“Well, that all depends, honey,” she says sweetly. “As long as you’re still there when I get to you, everything will be fine. Leave that spot, and I’ll call the police myself to report on the murdering you that I’ll have to do.”

Oh. So John did tell her. “I won’t move,” he promises. He’s not afraid of her, of course, but he’s already shrinking away from the conflict that’s coming for him. He tells Patsy exactly where she can find him, and sits still, waiting for his doom to arrive in a badly-driven minivan. 

He’s not sure how long it takes her to get there, but he is startled to notice that somehow it’s been more than two hours since John and Frances left. He’s been wallowing in his own thoughts for long enough that people are starting to look at him suspiciously. Oh well, he thinks, feeling sulky. They can think what they like. None of them have a clue what he’s actually going through. 

When Patsy pulls up, he heads to the minivan and gets in the passenger seat, after peering into the depths to make sure there are no other witnesses to his disgrace. She looks straight ahead, not moving, until he’s fastened his seatbelt, and then takes off with her usual lack of regard for physics, laws, or roadway etiquette. 

“So I guess John told you?” Alexander says, feeling unusually timid. Patsy shrugs with one shoulder. 

“Jack came home looking like he’d been attacked by wasps,” Patsy says evenly, and Alexander winces. John is allergic to wasp stings, as one particularly eventful afternoon during college had taught them all. “Once he got Cessie down for her nap, he eventually spilled some absolute nonsense that I’m not even going to pretend made a lick of sense. I got enough of it, though, to figure out I needed to find you.” She glances at Alexander, and now she does look dangerous. “So explain, Hamilton.”

Alexander slumps, feeling small and exhausted. “He explained that we weren’t, uh. Weren’t actually dating?” Patsy nods, and keeps her eyes on the road. Alexander sighs. “Look, the idea was never to actually cause any kind of problems. John didn’t want to bring me into it at all, at first. He was going to hire some weirdo online to pretend to be his boyfriend! I had to do it, to keep him from being some horror story on the nightly news!” 

Patsy mutters a few extremely foul curse words. Alexander is honestly impressed. “I love my brother very much,” she says, “but he’s an absolute idiot. However, I’m starting to think the same can be said of you. Keep going.”

“I didn’t know what we were getting into at all,” Alexander says miserably, slumping still further. The seatbelt cuts into his neck, and he doesn’t even care. “John only told me the very basics about Martha, and he didn’t say anything about Frances at all until we were almost here.”

“You didn’t know about Cessie?” Patsy sounds honestly shocked by that, and Alexander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she mutters. “Guess you’re better at acting than I thought.”

“Hey,” Alexander protests, a little hurt. “I’ve been great at acting, all through this! Didn’t we have all of you fooled about the whole situation? Not that that was a good thing,” he adds hastily, as Patsy shoots him a quick sideways glare. “Obviously, that was a terrible idea, but we were very convincing.”

“Boys are so stupid,” Patsy mutters, looking up at the sky as if for strength. “Lord, give me patience. Keep going.”

“There’s not much more to tell,” Alexander says, shifting uncomfortably. “I wasn’t lying to you when we talked before, though. John is the most important person in the world to me, and I never meant to let him get hurt. He’s my best friend.”

Patsy gives a sigh so deep it must physically hurt, and Alexander thinks he can see her last bit of patience evaporate. She pulls over into an almost-empty parking lot, throws the van in park, and turns on him. “I like you, Alexander,” she says bluntly. “Even if you are an idiot. Which is why I’m not giving you the kind of correction you so richly deserve.” He blinks at her, feeling very helpless. Everything he’s been through today has left him feeling like a wrung-out sponge, tired and useless. “I believe you didn’t mean to hurt Jack, but I also know how he looked and sounded when he came home and tried to tell some story about the two of you breaking up.”

“I mean, I guess that’s one way to put it,” Alexander says, though the idea leaves him feeling empty inside, like his chest is a gaping hollow that once had held a heart. He’d better start getting used to that, he thinks glumly. “Not really breaking up, though, since we were never really together.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Patsy says sharply, and rolls her eyes. “You obviously haven’t broken up. I told Jack that, too.”

“Guess not,” he agrees. “It was never really real, after all.” That’s an incredibly painful sentiment. He thinks of John, saying the same thing, saying he couldn’t deal with everything being fake anymore. They honestly should have seen this coming. 

“You are testing the limits of my compassion for lost and hurting souls, Alexander,” Patsy says darkly. “That is not what I mean. Obviously you haven’t broken up, because you’re far too good together for that to be an option. Plus, the world does not deserve to have to look at this much misery on your faces. You’re not doing any such thing.”

“John called it off,” Alexander says, finding enough strength to get a little angry and straighten up. “Not me! He said he didn’t want to do this anymore.”

“Go on,” Patsy says. 

Alexander looks away. His feet are endlessly fascinating objects of study, after all. “He said he didn’t want to keep faking a relationship.”

“Why?” Patsy is merciless. Alexander thinks the wrong sibling has gone to law school. Patsy should be a lawyer. 

“John said he’d accidentally fallen in love with me,” Alexander admits in a rush. “And so he couldn’t keep faking a relationship. But it’s OK, really. I think everything will go back to normal once we get home, and he’s not in forced proximity to me anymore.”

“You think Jacky accidentally fell in love with you because he was forced to be around you?” Patsy asks slowly, and sighs again, slow and heavy. “Alexander, you look at me.” He manages to tear his eyes off his shoes, and is surprised by just how sympathetic Patsy looks now. “Jacky and I were very close when we were younger, especially after our mother died,” she says matter-of-factly. “I spent all of his relationship with Simpson trying to get him to see what was going on, how he was being taken advantage of. He never did listen, not until things got ugly. Trust me - being forced to be around someone would be the absolute last way to get inside Jack’s heart.” 

“I didn’t say I had!” Alexander protests, feeling like he’s being accused of something. “I’m sure it’s just a temporary feeling, due to everything that’s been going on.”

“And you?” Patsy asks, going in for the kill. “Are your feelings for Jack just going to go away?”

He laughs. It sounds a bit too shrill, but whatever. “I already told you! This was all pretend. John and I have never been together, we’re not in love, we’re not-” He breaks off as Patsy stares at him, crossing her arms and waiting silently. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring him to continue. “It’s not like that,” he finishes pathetically. 

“You didn’t tell him,” she says flatly. “Damn it, Alexander, I thought better of you.”

“There’s nothing to tell!” he protests, but he thinks he’s losing the argument. That’s not normal. He generally debates far better than this, but he also generally has more time to prepare. 

“Nothing, huh?” Patsy demands. “So you’re saying if I sent him that picture of you staring at him like some sappy Christmas-morning commercial where everyone’s about to get a car and a diamond ring, he wouldn’t see what I did?”

“That’s got nothing to do with anything!” Alexander is starting to feel a little frantic, and Patsy nods knowingly. 

“You are every bit as gone for Jack as he is for you,” she declares. “I literally have photographic evidence, you dork. Now, that doesn’t mean anything, of course. You can walk away, and break his heart and your own, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. What you cannot do, though, is keep lying to him and everyone else. I told you I wasn’t going to let you take advantage of Jack.”

“I never would!” Alexander protests. 

“Be honest,” Patsy says. “He needs you, Alexander, and I think you need him just as much.”

“I don’t,” Alexander mutters rebelliously. “I can handle this. I can get over it. I’ve got too much on my plate to deal with a serious relationship. John needs someone better than me, anyway. Someone stable, someone who’ll be there for him and Cessie.” 

“Ohhhh,” Patsy says slowly. “Oh, that’s it. Someone walked out on you.” 

He wants to correct her, to spit the venomous responses that usually would come so easily to someone prying in his past, but the words don’t come. He’s lost his defenses.

He’s seen Patsy cry, he realizes, and watched her tend her baby brother’s grave, and told her things he’s never admitted to anyone else. They aren’t friends, though perhaps they could have been if things had gone differently, but he finds himself inordinately fond of her, and he doesn’t say what he wants to. Instead he nods, quietly. 

“My father wasn’t around.” He takes a deep breath, and remembers that she’s buried her mother, too. “And my mother died when I was young. So I know a little bit about the meaning of stability, and commitment, and exactly why John needs someone a whole hell of a lot better than me.”

Patsy looks off into the distance for a few minutes, clearly contemplating something. Finally, she gives a little nod. “Alexander,” she says, very direct. “Martha got pregnant on purpose.” 

“Ok,” he says slowly. 

“You have to understand,” Patsy says, face very tight. “It was right after Jemmy had died, and Jack was such a mess. I was scared he’d do something really stupid. I warned Martha it wasn’t the time to keep pestering him with the highschool crush she’d never grown out of, especially when he’d only gotten rid of Simpson a few months back, but she had her own plans. I’ve never seen Jack as drunk and miserable as the night he called me to come and pick him up from her house, and I wasn’t even sure he knew where he was. When we found out what Martha had done, and that she planned to keep him with her through the baby, I thought, that’s it. He’s never going to let anyone get close again, not ever, not after Simpson and then that.” Patsy bites her lip, and Alexander thinks she’s fighting back tears. “And then you turned up, holding his hand, and looking at Jack like he hung the moon, and I thought I’d gotten it all wrong.”

“I didn’t-” Alexander starts, and Patsy fixes him with a stern look. 

“I wasn’t done talking, Hamilton.” He shuts up. “And then I worked out that something was off, but I wasn’t sure what. The way you two would bounce back and forth from squirrely and weird to utterly in sync with one another - I couldn’t work it out. I never thought either of you were stupid enough to be faking it!”

“Oh, we’re stupid enough, all right,” Alexander mutters. He’s feeling particularly moronic right now, and a little bit like he’s drowning in what he’s just learned. It’s more confirmation of suspicions he’s been nursing than brand new information, but it’s still too much, and he feels painfully guilty at knowing these things that John has never told him. 

“Be that as it may,” Patsy says, reserving judgment the way some people’s grandmothers hide cookies away in a jar, “now that it’s all coming out, I have to say, it makes more sense than I thought. Answer one question for me, Alexander.” He nods apprehensively. “When did you fall in love with Jack?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and for once he’s being honest. “He’s my best friend. I don’t know when that turned into more. Maybe it already was, before I even came here. I don’t know.”

“So you came down here with him expecting nothing in return?” Patsy asks. “Just because you cared enough about him to want to keep him from getting hurt?” Alexander nods tiredly. “And you’re telling me you honestly don’t see why he’s fallen for you in return? You’ve been here for Jack every step of the way, even though you were too blind to see that he loved you, and now you’re telling me you’re not good enough, not stable enough?” She shakes her head in disgust. “I can’t tell you what to do, either of you, but I want to make sure you understand this. You earned Jack’s trust, when I didn’t think that was even possible. Now you’ve got to decide what to do with it.”

“That’s the problem,” he mutters to his shoelaces. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I haven’t, all along, and I’ve already messed things up enough.”

“That doesn’t make you special,” Patsy says sharply. “Nobody ever has a clue what they’re doing. The question is what you’re going to commit to.”

Alexander hates commitment. He really, really does. Not all forms of it, of course - he’s quite committed to his degree, and to his particular political causes; it’s the idea of commiting to people that makes him freeze up. He thinks he has reason enough to justify that hesitation, too.

“There’s no halfway in this, is there?” He asks aloud, even though Patsy isn’t likely to have any more answers than he does. “I mean, it’s not like I can just say ‘hey, I like you too, why don’t we go out for dinner next tuesday?’, is it?”

“You’ve been sharing a bed and practically co-parenting his daughter for a week,” Patsy says flatly. “Kind of hard to go back to first dates from there.”

Alexander groans and buries his face in his hands. “John said we could still be friends, that he didn’t want that to end, but how could we go back and pretend that all of this didn’t happen?”

“Easily, if it hadn’t meant anything,” Patsy points out. “This is only a big deal because things changed, for you and for Jack. You can try to ignore it and pretend nothing happened, or you can move forward from here.”

“Pretending won’t work,” Alexander says glumly. “Even if things went back to exactly how they were before, it wouldn’t be the same.” 

And it wouldn’t - because now he knows how John’s face changes at the sight of Alexander holding Cessie, knows what it feels like to hold his hand and stand together against social forces as scary as any forces of nature Alexander has ever faced. He knows which side of the bed John sleeps on, and how he mutters in his sleep, and what it’s like for them to look to one another for support and companionship on a level deeper than he’s ever let himself feel before with anyone else, and there’s no undoing any of that. Going back to the friendship they’d had is never going to be enough, not ever again. 

And then there’s Cessie, the adorable fly in the ointment that means nothing could ever be the same again, anyway. 

He misses them already, he thinks glumly. It’s only been two hours, and he feels the absence of John’s ready smile and irreverent sense of humor, and Cessie’s nonstop curiosity pushing at the boundaries of her world. The idea of them going on without him, the two of them against the world, and Alexander left behind in the perfect world he’s constructed for himself - academic success, intellectual support and stimulation, an easy path to a future where he can make a name for himself - suddenly it doesn’t feel quite so ideal. 

“He’d forgive me for it, wouldn’t he?” Alexander asks bitterly. “If I just let them go, let them walk away, John would find some way to make it his own fault. Hell, he already has.”

“Jack is really good at that,” Patsy agrees. “It may be his greatest life skill, actually.”

That makes it even worse, of course. 

“And if we try it and it all goes wrong?” he asks, desperate for some kind of reassurance that he knows nobody can actually give, because no-one can see the future. “If I screw this up, and we wind up hating each other? I don’t know if we even have a shot at making it work, being together.”

Patsy rolls her eyes again. It’s one mannerism that she and John don’t have in common, thankfully. “Look, Alexander, I’m going to make the assumption that you’re suffering from sleep deprivation or something, because I know you’re smarter than this. You two are already together, in every way that could possibly matter enough to make this decision.” She shakes her head at him. “We need to get home before Jack goes and does something else stupid, like telling our father that you two broke up. If he does that, he’s going to lose dad’s support. Dad will say it’s proof that Jack’s not stable enough to be raising Cessie.”

“Oh god,” Alexander breathes. He hadn’t even thought through that aspect of their whole situation. Should he text John, tell him to keep his mouth shut? But that would be so unfair, making John feel like he has to maintain the pretense he’s already said he needs to end, with the threat of his father’s disapproval hanging over his head again. 

Patsy starts the van again, moving them toward home, toward John and Cessie, and Alexander’s heart pounds as he keeps trying to think, as though some other option is going to make itself known. It’s not, though. This time, for once, he’s faced with an incredibly simple question, and for all that he’s done his best to confuse the issue in his own head, it’s not actually that challenging, when he really thinks about it. He’s always known his answer, ever since the moment he realized John would actually get a stranger to accompany him, and Alexander had thrown himself at the problem without stopping to think. 

This time, he’s had a bit more time, and done a lot more considering. This time, he might actually get it right. 

“Patsy, quick favor,” Alexander says, suddenly snapping back to life as his decision is made, locked in on a new course of action, with a plan coming into focus. “I need you to stop somewhere on the way home.” 

He finally knows what he's going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would he even be Alexander Hamilton if he didn't overthink his decisions to the point of near-madness? Sometimes there are great downsides to being incredibly, remarkably clever, and the fact that your brain moves at three times the speed of life means you have way too much time to overthink, overreact, and over-dramatize all the possible ways everything you do can and will go wrong. Poor Alexander. Now it's time for ACTION that proceeds from that overwrought brain. Heaven help us. 
> 
> Finally, after MORE than a month, we're over the 50,000 line! I feel like I've been slacking. This one is almost done, sadly, but now I'm deciding between the two (three. Ahem, four. Shut up, don't judge me.) next stories I've been plotting, and you just might wind up getting one that's just for fun because my high-concept really really weird one isn't quite ready for prime-time yet. (I can write fun! I swear I can!) Anyway. Keep coming back, being lovely, and enabling my insanity, and who knows what might come next? I couldn't do this without you guys, honestly - your comments are so incredibly encouraging, thoughtful, kind, and thought-provoking. Love to you all!


	14. Fourteen

He says nothing on the rest of the ride back to the Laurens’ home - not too difficult a feat, considering it’s only a few minutes from the store Patsy had stopped at as requested - but Alexander is suddenly so full of determination that it might as well have taken a week. He’s not good at patience, especially not when he’s got a goal in sight, and now that he’s made up his mind, he’s cursing every moment he has let slip away. Why had he let John walk away without saying anything, without giving any indication that his feelings were not one-sided? All he can do is fidget with the bag in his lap, count the seconds, and try his best not to urge Patsy on to even greater heights of death-defying driving.

“Right,” she says, pulling into the driveway. “Don’t screw this up, Alexander. If I have to sort it out between the two of you, you’ll owe me dish duty for eternity.” He grins at her, incredibly hopeful, his heart soaring with the idea of what could possibly be to come. He barely lets her get the minivan into park before he flings himself out the door, setting off on a mission that he cannot be dissuaded from.

Polly is lurking by the front door, watching out with wide, anxious eyes, and she flings the door open as he approaches. “What happened to Jack?” she demands, fists on her hips, and Alexander puts his hands up in surrender.

“I made a mistake,” he says quietly. “I thought I needed time to think about something that was perfectly obvious, and I hurt his feelings.”

“You’re going to apologize, right?” Polly asks, very stern, and Alexander nods.

“You’re going to tell me where he is, right?” he echoes, and Polly can’t help but smile at that, though she fights it back with a will.

“Up in your room,” she says, pointing at the ceiling. “He was putting Cessie down for a nap, and then he just stayed in there.”

Alexander hesitates a moment. He doesn’t want to wake Frances up - if there’s one thing he’s learned by heart on this trip, it is the folly of waking a sleeping toddler - but he really cannot have this conversation with John in full view of his entire family. They may not talk about things openly, but that only seems to make them more skilled at intuiting things they’re not meant to know, he decides ruefully. He nods, and makes for the stairs as quietly as he can manage, turning halfway up to shoot Polly a warning glare. He’s managed to catch her in the act of following him up, though she does her best to look innocent.

“I need your help,” Alexander tells her in a hushed voice. “I need to talk to John, but I need you to keep everyone else away. Can you do that, just for a bit? Don’t let them come up and interrupt?”

She looks at him with such keen insight that Alexander suddenly sees a miniature Patsy, and considers for a long moment before nodding.

“Fine,” she says. “But only if you’re going to explain everything later.”

“We will,” Alexander lies, and darts up the stairs before she can try to extract any more information from him.

He creeps down the hallway, hesitating for a few seconds too long outside the guest room door. No sound comes from within, so Cessie must be sleeping, and John - well, who knows? Alexander takes a very deep breath, lets it out in a long, slow exhalation that does nothing to calm his nerves, and then opens the door as slowly and quietly as he can.

Cessie is indeed sound asleep in her crib, and John looks as put together and in control as ever. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands locked together, just staring at Cessie as she sleeps; it’s not until after Alexander has closed the door that he even appears to notice his entry.

“Oh,” John says. He doesn’t get up; his fingers fold together a bit tighter, going white at the knuckles, and he smiles artificially at Alexander. “I was starting to worry you hadn’t been able to remember our address. Glad you made it back.” His tone is so calm and even that Alexander could almost imagine that all of the past few hours had been nothing but figments of his imagination, if it weren’t for the redness around John’s eyes. He can feel guilty about that later.

“Here,” Alexander says, his voice too sharp, his movements too awkward, but he manages to make his way within arm’s reach, and holds out his purchase to John, wrapped in the plastic bag from the store. It’s an awful, inelegant, entirely unromantic gesture, and he suddenly isn’t at all sure that this is the right move. He’s still sure about John, though, and he bites his tongue to stop a flurry of words from tumbling out and drowning the moment.

John takes it from him, a bit apprehensively, and pulls out the gift with a look of pure befuddlement.

“It’s a chess set,” he says, stating the obvious in a truly magnificent, bewildered fashion, and suddenly Alexander doesn’t know how he’d ever thought for even a second that he could let John go, that he could stand to lose what they’ve found here in the past few days. He gestures at the box.

“You suck at chess,” he says. That hangs in the air between them for a moment, and Alexander can’t help but cringe at his own stupidity. That’s not the greatest confession of love the world has ever heard. “I suck at this,” he adds quietly, and sits down on the bed, leaving plenty of space between them, not wanting to crowd John.

“What-” John starts, and Alexander waves his hands at him, asking wordlessly for forbearance, for a chance to explain himself.

“You suck at chess,” he says again, because he’s in it now, and he might as well lean into the awkwardness. “And Polly does too, but that’s a little more understandable because she’s a kid - but it’s physically painful to watch you play. I can’t stand it.” John blinks at him, still utterly bewildered, and Alexander wants to grin stupidly, but he has to work this out first. “I can teach you,” he says, gesturing at the chess set. “At home. I mean, you may never be a prodigy, but you’re smart - you’re brilliant, John. You can do so much better.”

“Oh,” John says again. The fake smile is gone now, and he looks down at the game, downcast. “Ok. Sure.”

Alexander groans, and rubs at his eyes. “I could write this as an essay, and it would come out fine. You’d understand everything I was trying to say, but I keep getting everything muddled when I try to put it into words.” He reaches out and taps the box, calling John’s attention back, making eye contact. “I want to teach you to play so that when we come back for Christmas, I don’t have to watch that kind of massacre of the game again.”

“Christmas?” John says blankly. Alexander nods.

“Or Thanksgiving, or whenever else we make the trip. Polly has been very clear on the fact that she expects you to bring Cessie back to visit frequently.”

“You don’t have to,” John says, his voice flat and sad, and Alexander wastes a few seconds wishing for a time machine so he could go back and warn his past self not to screw this up so badly. “I already explained things to Patsy. They won’t be expecting you back.”

He’d been hoping for some sort of romance-movie realization from John, a sudden dawning knowledge of what Alexander is trying to convey. That’s not happening, and of course it isn’t. No normal person would deduce from discussions of their lack of skill at chess that someone was trying to confess their affections. Ah, well.

“I want to,” he says, reminding himself to keep his voice quiet. “Look, John, I’ve gone about this all wrong. I was thrown, earlier, when you said-”

“Ok, yes,” John interrupts, looking slightly frantic. “I’m sorry, I never should have-”

“ _Sine qua non_ ,” Alexander says, and apparently all it takes is an out of context Latin phrase to put the brakes on John’s apology. He stops, looking bewildered again, and Alexander seizes the opportunity. “You’re the legal mind here, so correct me if I’ve got this wrong, but it means the absolutely indispensable thing, right? That without which - the essential precondition, the thing without which nothing holds together.”

“Without which, not,” John says mechanically, and nods.

“I worked it out,” Alexander says. “I thought all this time that it didn’t matter how I felt, about you or us or what we could potentially have, together, because I thought it was a trade-off. That I’d have to sacrifice too much in order to be able to offer you any reasonable facsimile of a relationship, even though I didn’t actually know that you’d even ever want such a thing until, like, two hours ago, and that was an element of it, too. Honestly you have to take some of the blame, too, because the bad communication is on both of us - but I’m straying from the point.”

John looks a little breathless, which is very strange because Alexander is the one talking nonstop, but whatever, he’s rolling with it now.

“I didn’t really know, until you walked away, how very much none of it matters,” Alexander says, trying to keep his voice from shaking with emotion, trying to present his case reasonably. “Any of the things I thought I couldn’t give up, or didn’t want to. You and Cessie left, and I was alone for the first time in days, and it turns out I hated it?” He takes a deep breath, which wants to be the first gasp of a sob, which he does not have time for. “The essential thing, John Laurens. That without which none of it matters. It’s you.” He glances over at Cessie’s crib, and can’t help but smile automatically. “You and her, too, now, I guess. I didn’t see it coming, but there it was, and I realized I couldn’t go back to life without you in it. Properly in it, I mean - not just pestering you to come join us for movies and meals or watching you break things around the house. I mean this.” He gestures around, trying to encompass all of what the last days have been - companionship and support, shared jokes and the quiet intertwining of hands and hearts that had happened without their knowledge, without their consent, but had happened anyway.

“Faking a relationship to trick my family into thinking I could be a reliable, functional adult?” John asks, somewhere too close to bitterness for Alexander’s liking, and he shakes his head wildly.

“It’s not fake,” he says quietly. “Not on my part. Not anymore. Not for a while, now.” John looks suspiciously at the door, and Alexander shakes his head again. “No, they’re not eavesdropping. I set Polly to guard the stairs, because I wanted to really be able to talk to you. I’m not saying this for anyone but you.”

“What isn’t fake?” John whispers, running a hand through his hair, still looking so confused it’s almost painful.

“Any of it,” Alexander says boldly. “All of it. As much of it as you’re willing to give me.” He taps the game that is still in John’s hands, forgotten now. “I thought for a minute about something more. I wanted to get a ring and ask you for forever.” John blinks at him in shock, mouth dropping open, and Alexander laughs at himself. “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t. That, and I’m still a broke grad student, and I didn’t want to get you something shitty, because you-”

“No, wait,” John says, shaking his head. “I told you a few hours ago that I - I had.” He stops, looking lost. “You didn’t say anything then.”

“Not because I didn’t feel it,” Alexander says, keeping his voice quiet and low, full of as much sincerity as he can manage. “I didn’t know what to say in that moment. I’d never even considered that you might like me back, that this could be a possibility between us, because I thought it was just me.”

“And I thought the same,” John says, a little laugh blowing away some of the dark clouds of concern that have shadowed his face. “Are we both just too stupid for words?”

“So your sister assures me,” Alexander says ruefully. He scratches his head, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands or his face or any of his words. “I don’t know what to say. I’d never really thought about it, back home - but then we were here, and it was just so easy to be with you, even when it was fake. And then it wasn’t anymore - fake, I mean.” He gestures at the game that’s still in John’s lap. “Polly said something, about us coming back for the holidays, and I realized I didn’t want you to come back without me.”

“So,” John starts, and shakes his head again. “Are you trying to, like, ask me out?”

“We’re kind of past that, I think,” Alexander says, giving an expansive wave of his arms. “I think I’m trying to ask you whether we can just stop pretending, and do this for real. I mean, we’ve been pretty good at it, don’t you think?”

John ruffles up his hair. “It’s only been a week, Alexander.”

“It’s been a week of us being the most committed couple I’ve ever seen,” Alexander points out. “We went to a funeral and a court hearing and took a toddler out to eat. That’s pretty far past first date territory.”

A smile spreads across John’s face, slow and brilliant, like sunrise. “I literally entrusted you with my child, multiple times,” he agrees. “My dad gave me an incredibly awkward lecture about the challenges of coparenting, and pretty much implied that, although he still disapproves of my orientation, we should consider formalizing our relationship for Cessie’s sake. I almost had a nervous breakdown.”

“We don’t want to rush into that,” Alexander says quickly, and John wilts just a little, the familiar look of rejection passing over his features. Alexander puts out a hand, grabbing John’s, a gesture that has become so natural and easy that it’s more familiar than he could have imagined. “We’ve got to wait until Cessie’s old enough to be the flower girl. Or the ringbearer, whichever she’d prefer.”

John laughs at that, a little desperate, a little frantic. “Ten minutes ago I was trying to figure out how to tell my family you’d dumped me, and how I was going to make it through the next hour, and then the hour after that. And now you’re making wedding plans.”

Alexander shrugs, but he can’t keep himself from grinning. “I mean, no rush, but you know me. Once I set my mind on an idea, I’m pretty hard to dissuade.”

“I’ve noticed,” John says. He rubs a thumb along the back of Alexander’s hand. “Are you really sure about this, though? I can’t afford to get us into a situation - me and Cessie - that we can’t get out of again, or that might mean another loss for her. I’m already not sure that taking her away from the family is a great idea, not when she’s already lost Martha.”

Alexander swallows the poisonous words he wants to spit about Martha. There’ll be time to talk about all of that later, to try to figure out the kinds of hurts they’re both carrying and how they’ll help one another. “We’ll have to make an extra effort to keep them in the loop. They can always come visit in New York, and we’ll bring her back here for holidays whenever we can. And you know it’s not just on us - Herc and Laf are going to dote on her, you know that. We’ll be fine.”

“Guess we’ve done a lot of the hard parts already,” John muses. “Maybe it gets better, from here?” He looks so hopeful that Alexander feels a lump in his throat. He hasn’t really let himself think through how rough the past few years have been for John; he doesn’t think he can, not right now, not without falling apart. He nods, though, with all the certainty of a man who can bullshit his way through a graduate seminar on a book he hasn’t bothered to read.

“It does,” he says. “John, it does. It’s going to be so good.”

“I don‘t get why you would want-” John starts, and Cessie gives a little whimper in her sleep, turning over noisily. Alexander points at her.

“If you were about to say something stupid, like that I shouldn’t want to be with you, then I’m with her. I will also fuss at you and then go to sleep. Or, worse - I’ll make you tell me why the hell you’d want to be with a neurotic, workaholic, absent-minded academic with a severe caffeine addiction.” John opens his mouth to protest, and Alexander shakes his head. “I’m not kidding. I’ll go full nuclear warfare, here. I’ll march down there and make you listen to me telling your whole family all the things I love about you, until you can’t come up with any more objections.”

“Remember how I threatened to leave you by the side of the road to die on our way down here?” John asks, but he doesn’t manage to make it sound even vaguely threatening, and Alexander grins at him.

“That feels like a lifetime ago,” he says. So much has happened since then. It feels like the whole world has changed around them, and all that’s left the same is John and Alexander. “Glad you let me come along, now?”

“Oh god,” John says, horror crossing his expression. “Can you imagine if you hadn’t?”

“I’d rather not.”

There are lots of things he’d rather do, in fact. Most of them involve kissing John, right now, soundly and properly - but that’s one of the things they need to work out, because he’s got a feeling there’s more to discuss there before John will be ready for that level of affection, and if there’s one thing Alexander isn’t going to do, it’s take things too fast. Well, after this, that is, he adds mentally. They’ve fastforwarded through a whole bunch of things, and it’s going to take some work to go back and fill in the gaps. He knows a hell of a lot more of John’s secrets than John knows of his, and that’s got to be corrected, unpleasant as that will be, because Alexander means for this to last. They may have stumbled into it accidentally, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth fighting for.

“Oh no,” he groans, as sudden realization sweeps over him, and John looks concerned. “I just realized.”

“What?” John asks, going tense, and Alexander shakes his head in dismay.

“Can you imagine? We’re going to have to explain ourselves to Herc and Laf.”

John groans as well, an echo of Alexander; it’s nice to be on the same page. “They’re going to be absolutely insufferable.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, even though John is absolutely right. They will be, and John and Alexander will be soundly mocked, and Cessie will be doted on, and the summer is absolutely going to fly by. He isn’t going to say anything about it to John, yet, but Alexander makes a silent pledge to himself. If it’s in his power, he’ll have a ring on John’s finger by the time they come back to South Carolina for the holidays.

For as much as he hates the term ‘boyfriend’? It turns out that ‘fiance’ has a much nicer ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, weird posting time, don't die of shock! :D
> 
> And that's where we'll wrap this one up, I think. It's been very odd, reading comments about the PAIN and ANGST in this one because honestly it wasn't meant to be painful? I view this as the happy ending - wish fulfillment, dreams coming true, all the good things happening at once. It's basically the last ten minutes of the film, where wrongs are being righted and loose ends wrapped up - because the actual painful story was the one I skipped over, of John for the past two years or so. Anyway, I feel good about it, in terms of warm-fuzzy feelings, so that'll have to do. 
> 
> Feel free to scream at me however you like, and then come over and join me in my newest writing venture, if you'd like! You guys will actually get my very best attempt at humorous/light/happy story over there, so we'll see if that's any more successful than this effort! I had fun with this one, though, and hope you did too. Chin up, kids. We'll make it through. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well. Love to all of you - Kivrin.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey kids! Clearly what we need in this fandom is some fake-dating AU, I have determined. After all, how could that ever be anything but fun, hilarious, light-hearted shenanigans? Let's go!


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